OLMSTEAD'S 

RECITATIONS 

A CHOICE COLLECTION OF 

BEAUTIFUL COMPOSITIONS, 



Which have Always and Everywhere Given 
Universal Satisfaction. 



EVERY ONE A PRIZE SELECTION. 



COMPILED BY 



PROF. SEYMOUR OLMSTEAD 

For Public and Private Entertainment. 



1893: 
A. M. Eddy, Printer and Binder, 

Albion, N. Y. WASHW&lSi* 



35y' 



^ 






Copyright 1893 by Seymour Olmstead. 



To The Public. 

Ill accordance with the laws of progress, our literature is receiving 
constant accession of beautiful thoughts expressed in poetry and in 
prose, which come and go — like Macbeth's shadow — or like flashing 
meteors along life's pathway — or like beautiful flowers, that bloom for a 
season and vanish from our gaze. Not mine the task to gatht r and 
save all these beautiful lines, but — "I am an . old soldier in my way, 
Monsieur!" Twenty years of my life have been devoted to "the art 
which ennobles" and I have endeavored to present in this book a few of 
those masterpieces which have always, and everywhere given universal 
satisfaction. These have been gathered from old scrap-books, maga- 
zines, publications, papers and manuscripts, and represent the faithful 
and careful hoardings of many years. I take pleasurein calling your at- 
tention to the contents of this book. 

To my pupils, and you are numbered by the score, you are re- 
sponsible for this work; you have led me "on and on!" ever pressing- 
forward, ever striving for something higher and better. 

"Years have passed since together we gathered, a joyous 

and light-hearted baud. 
The living far distant are scattered; the dead Valk the 

bright summer land. 

You will find all the "good old pieces" here. As you glance at the 
familiar titles memory will lead you back to happy days, — "act well 
your part, therein the honor lies." 

I dedicate this work to you 

The Compiler. 



OlmsteacTs Recitations 



Santa Claus iD the Mines. 

In a small cabin in a California min- 
ing town, av\ ay up amid the snow-clad, 
rock-bound peaks of the Sierra Nevada 
Mountains, sat a woman, in widow's 
weeds, holding upon her knee a bright- 
eyed, sunny-faced little girl, about 
live years old, while a little cherub of a 
boy lay upon a bear skin before the 
open fireplace. It was Christmas Eve, 
and the woman sat gazing abstractedly 
into the fireplace. She was yet young, 
and as the glowing flames lit up her sad 
face they invested it with a wiercl 
beauty. 

Mary Stewart was the widow of 
Aleck Stewart, and but two years be- 
fore they had lived comfortably and 
happy, in a camp on the American 
River. Aleck was a brawny miner; 
but the premature explosion of a blast 
in an underground tunnel had blotted 
out his life in an instant, leaving his 
family without a protector, and in 
straitened circumstances. His daily 
wages had been their sole support, and 
now that he was gone, what could 
they do? 

With her little family Mrs. Stewart 
had emigrated to the camp in which we 
lind them, and there she earned a pre- 
carious livelihood by washing clothes 
for the miners. Hers was a hard lot; 
but the brave little woman toiled on, 
cheered by the thought that her daily 
labors stood between her darling litt.e 
ones and the gaunt wolf of starvation. 

Jack Dawson, a strong honest miner, 
was passing the cabin this Christmas 
Eve, when the voice of the little girl 
within attracted his attention. Jack 
possessed an inordinate love for child- 



ren, and although his manly spirit, 
would abhor the sneaking practice of 
eavesdropping, he could not resist the 
temptation to steal up to the window 
just a moment to listen to the sweet, 
prattling, voice. The first words he 
caught were: 

"Before papa died we always had 
Christmas, didn't we, mamma?" 

"Yes, Totty, darling; but papa earned 
money enough to afford to make his 
little pets happy at least once a year. 
You must remember, Totty, that we 
are very poor, and although mamma 
works very, very hard, she can scarcely 
earn enough to supply us with food and 
clothes." 

Jack Dawson still lingered upon the 
outside. He could not leave, although 
he felt ashamed of himself for listening. 

"We hung up our stockings last 
Christmas, didn't we, mamma?" con- 
tinued the little girl. 

"Yes, Totty; but we w r ere poor then, 
and Santa Claus never notices real 
poor people. He gave you a little can- 
dy then, just because you were such 
good children." 

"Is we any poorer now, mamma?" 

"Oh! yes, much poorer. He would 
never notice us at all now." 

Jack Dawson detected a tremor of 
sadness in the widow's voice as she- 
uttered the last words, and he wiped 
a suspicious dampness from his eyes. 

"Where's our clean stockings, mam- 
ma? I'm going to hang mine up, any- 
how; maybe he will come like he did 
before, just because we try to be good 
children, said Totty. 

"It will be no use, my darling, I am 
sure he will not come," and tears- 



Olmsteae's Recitations. 



gathered in the mother's eves as she 
thought of her empty purse. 

"1 don't care, I'm going to try, any- 
how. Please get one of my stockings, 
mamma." 

Jack Dawsons generous heart swelled 
until it seemed bursting from his bosom. 
He heard the patter of little bare feet 
upon the cabin floor as Totty ran about 
hunting hers and Benny's stockings, 
and after she had hunted ihem up, 
heard her sweet voice again as she won- 
dered over and over if Santa really 
would forget them. He heard the mother, 
in a choking voice, tell her treasures to 
get ready for bed ; heard them lisp their 
childish prayers, the little girl con- 
cluding: "And, O, Lord! please tell 
good* Santa Claus that we are very 
poor but that we love him as much as 
rich children do, fur dear Jesus' sake 
— Amen!" 

: t they were in bed, through a small 
rent in the plain white curtain he saw 
the widow sitting before the fire her 
face buried in her hands, and weeping 
bitterly. On a peg, just over the tire- 
place, hung two little patched and 
faded stockings, aud then he could 
stand it no longer- He softly moved 
away from the window to the rear of 
the cabin, where some objects fluttering 
to the wind met his eye- Among these 
he searched until he found a little blue 
stocking which he removed from the 
line, folded tenderly, and placed in his 
overcoat pocket, and then set out for 
the main street of the camp. He en- 
tered Harry Hawk's gambling hall, the 
largest in the place, where a host of 
miners and gamblers were at play. 
Jack was well known in the camp, and 
when he got up on a chair and called 
for attention, the hum of voices and 
clicking of ivory checks suddenly 
ceased. Then in an earnest Aoice he 
told what he had seen and heard, re- 
peating every word of the conversation 
between the mother and her children. 
In conclusion he said: 



"Boys, I think I know you, every one 
of you, an' I know jist what kind o' 
metal yer made of. I've an idee that 
Santy r Claus knows jist whar thet cabin's 
sitiwated, an' I've an idee he'll find it 
afore mornin'. Hyar's one of the little 
gal's stock'n's thet I hooked offn the 
line. The daddy o' them little ones was 
a good, hard-working miner, an' he 
crossed the range in the line o' duty, 
jist as any one of us is liable to do in 
our dangerous business. Hyar goes a 
twenty-dollar piece right down in the 
toe. and hyar I lay the stockiu' on this 
card table — now chip in much or little, 
as ye kin affor 

Brocky Clark, a gambler, left the ta- 
ble, picked the little stocking up care- 
full}', looked at it tenderly, and when 
he laid it down another twenty had 
gone into the toe to keep company with 
the one placed there by Dawson. 

Another and another came up until 
the foot of the stocking was well filled, 
and then came the cry from the gamb- 
ling tables: 

'•Pass her around. Jack.'' 

At the word he lifted it from the ta. 
bie and started aron: I. Uefore 

he had circulated it at half a dozen 
tables it showed signs of bursting be- 
neath the weight of gold and silver coin, 
and a strong coin bag, such as he used 
for sending treasure by express, was 
procured and the .stocking placed inside 
of it. The round of the large hall was 
made, and in the meantime the story 
had spread all over the camp. From 
the various saloons came messages say- 
ing: 

"Send the stockin' 'round the camp: 
re a-waitin' for ir!" 

With a party at his heels, Jack went 
from saloon to saloon. Games ceased 
and tipplers left the bars as they en- 
tered each place, and miners, gamblers, 
speculators, everybody, crowded up to 
tender their Christmas gift to the mi- 
ner's widow and orphans. Any one 
who has lived in the far Western camps 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



and is acquainted with the generosity 
of Western men will feel no surprise or 
doubt my truthfulness, when 1 say that 
alter the round had been made the little 
blue stocking and the heavy canvas bag 
contained over eight thousand dollars 
in gold and silver coin. 

Horses were procured, and a party 
dispatched to the larger town down on 
the Consiliums, from which they re- 
turned near daybreak with toys, cloth- 
ing, provisions, etc., in almost endless 
variety. Arranging their gifts in prop- 
er shape, and securely tying the mouth 
of the bag of coin, the party noislessly 
repaired to the widow's humble cabin. 
The bag was first laid on the step, and 
the other articl d up in a heap 

over it. On the top was laid the lid of 
a large pasteboard box, on which was 
written with a piece of charcoal: 

"Santy Clans dosen't allways Giv 
poor Folks The Cold Shoulder in This 
camp." 

Christmas dawned bright and beauti- 
ful. 

Mrs. Stewart arose, and a shade of 
pain crossed her handsome face as the 
empty little stockings caught her ma- 
ternal eye She cast a hurried glance 
toward the bed where her darlings laj r 
sleeping, and whispered: 

"O God! how dreadful is poverty!' 1 
built a glowing lire, set about, 
preparing the frugal breakfast, and 
when it was almost ready she ap- 
proached the bed, kissed the little ones 
until they were wide awake, and lifted 
them to the floor. With eager haste 
Totty ran to the stockings, only to turn 
away, sobbing as though her heart 
would break. Tears blinded the moth- 
er, and clasping her little girl to her 
heart she said in a choking voice: 

"Never mind my darling; next Christ- 
mas I am sine mamma will be richer, 
and then Santa l laus will bring us lots 
of nice things. " 

"O mamma!!' 

The exclamation came from little 



Benny, who had opened the door and 

was standing gazing in amazement upon 
the wealth of gifts there disylayed. 

Mrs. Stewart sprang to his side and 
looked in speechless astonishment. Six- 
read the card, and then, causing her 
little ones to kneel down with her in 
the open doorway, she poured out her 
soul in a torrent of praise and thanks- 
giving to God. 

Jack Dawson's burly form moved 
from behind a tree a short distance 
away, and sneaked off up the gulch, 
great crystal tears chasing each other 
down his face. 

The family arose from their knees, 
and began to move the stores into the 
room There were several sacks of 
flour, hams, canned fruits, pounds and 
pounds of coffee, tea, and sugar. neAV 
dress goods, and a handsome, warm 
woolen shawl for the widow, shoes, 
stockings, hats, mittens, and clothing 
for the children, a great big wax doll 
that could cry and move its eyes for 
Totty, and a beautiful md sled for Ben- 
ny. All were carried inside amidst al- 
ternate laughs and tears. 

"Bring in the sack of salt, Totty, and 
that is all," said the mother. 'Ts not 
God good to us?" 

"I can't lift it, mamma, it's frozed to 
the step!'' 

The mother stooped and took hold of 
it and lifted harder and harder; until 
she raised it from tjie step. Her cheek 
blanched as she noted its great weight, 
and breathlessly she carried it in and 
laid if upon the breakfast table. With 
trembling fingers she loosened the 
string and emptied the contents upon 
the table. Gold and silver — more than 
she had ever thought of in her wildest 
dreams of comfort, and almost buried 
in the pile of treasure lay Totty's little 
blue slocking. 

We will not intrude longer upon such 
happiness; but leave the joyful family 
sounding praises to Heaven and Santa 
Clans. — Anox. 



8 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The Skeleton's Story. 

It is two miles ahead to the foot-hills 
—two miles of parched and rocky- 
space. To the right— the left— behind, 
is the rolling prairie. This broad val- 
ley strikes the Sierra Nevadas and stops 
as if a wall had been built across it. 

Ride closer! What is this on the 
grass ? A skull here— a rib there— bones 
scattered about as the wild beasts left 
them after the horrible feast. The 
elean-picked skull grins and stares 
—every bone and scattered lock of 
hair has its story of a tragedy. And 
what besides these relics? More bones 
— not scattered, but lying in heaps — 
a vertebra with ribs attached— a Mesh- 
less skull bleaching under the summer 
sun. Wolves! Yes. Count the heaps 
of bones and you will rind nearly a 
score. Open boats are picked up at sea 
with neither life nor sign to betray 
their secret. Skeletons are found up- 
on the prairie, but they tell a plain 
story to those who halt beside them. 
Let us listen: 

Away off to the right you can see 
treetops. Away off to the left 3-011 can 
see the same sight The skeletons are 
in line between the two points. He 
left one grove to ride to the other; To 
ride! Certainly, a mile away is the skele- 
ton of a horse or mule. The beast fell 
and was left there. 

It is months since that ride, and the 
trail has been obliterated. Were it 
otherwise, and you took it up from the 
spot where the skeleton horse now lies, 
you would find the last three or four 
miles made at a tremendous pace, 

"Step! step! step! 1 ' 

What is it? Darkness has gathered 
over mountain and prairie as the hunt- 
er jogs along over the broken ground. 
Overhead the countless stars look down 
upon him — around him is the pall of 
night. There was a patter of footsteps 
on the dry grass. Pie halts and peers 
around him, but the darkness is too 
deep for him to discover any cause for 
alarm 



"Patter! patter! patter!" 

There it is again! It is not fifty yards 
from where he has last halted. The 
steps are too light for those of an Indian . 

" Wolves'" whispers the hunter, as a 
howl suddenly breaks upon his ear. 

Wolves! The gaunt, grizzly wolves 
of the foot-hills — thin and poor and 
hungry and savage — the legs tireless — 
the mouth full of teeth which can crack 
the shoulder-bone of a buffalo He can 
see their dark forms flitting from point 
to point — the patter of their feet upon 
the parched grass proves that he is sur- 
rounded. 

Now the race begins. A line of 
wolves spreads out to the right and 
left, and gallops after— tongues out — 
eyes flashing— great flakes of foam fly- 
ing back to blotch stone and grass and 
leaves a trail to be followed by the 
cowardly co^yotes. 

Men ride thus only when life is the 
stake, A horse puts forth |uch speed 
only when terror follows close behind 
and causes every nerve to tighten like 
a wire drawn until the scratch of a 
finger makes it chord with a wail of de- 
spair. The line is there— aye it is 
gaining! Inch by inch it creeps up, and 
the red eye takes on a more savage 
gleam as the hunter cries out to his 
horse and opens fire from his revolvers. 
A wolf falls on the right — a second on 
the left. Does the wind cease blowing 
because it meets a forest? The fall of 
one man in a mad mob increases the 
determination of the rest. 

With a cry so full of the despair that 
wells up from the heart of the strong 
man when he gives up his struggle for 
life that the hunter almost belie ves a 
companion rides beside him, the horse 
staggers — recovers — plunges forward — 
falls to the earth. It was a glorious 
struggle; but he has lost. 

There is a confused heap of snarling, 
fighting, maddened beasts and the line 
rushes forward again. Saddle, bridle, 
and blanket are in shreds— the horse a 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



9 



skeleton. And now the chase is after 
the hunter. He has half a mile the 
start, and as he rims the veins stand 
out, the muscles tighten, and he won- 
ders at his own speed. Behind him are 
the gaunt bodies and the tireless legs. 
Closer, closer, and now he is going to 
faee fate like a brave man should. He 
has halted. In an instant a circle is 
formed about him— a circle of red eve-. 
foaming mouths, and yellow fangs 
which are to meet in his flesh. 

There is an interval— a breathing 
spell. He looks up at the stars -out 
upon the night. It is his last hour, but 
there is no quaking— no crying out to 
the night to send him aid. As the 
wolves rest, a flash blinds their eyes— 
a second— a third— and a fourth, and 
they give before the man they had 
looked tipon as their certain prey. But 
it is only for a momeuc. He sees them 
gathering for the rush, and firing his 
remaining bnllets among them he seizes 
his long rifle by the barrel and braces 
to meet the shock. Even a savage 
would have admired the heroic fight he 
made for life. He sounds the war-cry 
and whirls his weapon around him, and 
wolf after wolf falls disabled. He feels 
a strange exultation over the desperate 
combat, and as the pack gives way be- 
fore his mighty blows a gleam of hope 
springs up in his heart. 

It is only for a moment; then the cir- 
cle narrows. Each disabled beast is re- 
placed by three which hungers for blood. 
There is a rush — a swirl — and the cry 
of despair is drowned in the chorus of 
snarls as the pack fight over the feast. 
******** 
The gray of morning — the sunlight of 
noonday — the stars of evening will look 
down upon grinning skull and whiten- 
ing bones, and the wolf will return to 
crunch them again. Men will not bury 
them. They will look dowu upon them 
as we look, and ride away with a feel- 
ing that 'tis but another dark secret of 
the wonderful prairie. 



The Monster Gannon.— Victor Hugo. 

They heard a noise unlike anything 
usually heard. The cry and the noise 
came from inside the vessel. 

One of the carronades of the battery, 
a twenty-four pounder, had become de- 
tached. 

This, perhaps, is the most formidable of 
ocean events. Nothing more terrible 
can happen to a war vessel, at sea, and 
under full sail. 

A cannon which breaks its moorings 
becomes suddenly some indescribable, 
supernatural beast. It is a machine 
which transforms itself into a monster. 
This mass runs on its wheels, like bil- 
liard-balls, inclines with the rolling, 
plunges with the pitching, goes, comes. 
stops, seems to meditate, resumes its 
course, shoots from one side of the ship 
to the other like an arrow, whirls, steals 
away, evades, prances, strikes, breaks, 
kills, exterminates. It is a ram which 
capriciously assails a wall. Add this — 
the ram is of iron, the wall is of wood. 
This furious bulk has the leaps of the 
panther, the weight of the elephant, the 
agility of the mouse, the pertinacity of 
the axe, the unexpectedness of the 
surge, the rapidity of lightning, the si- 
lence of the sepulcher. It weighs ten 
thousand pounds, and it rebounds like 
a child's ball. Its whirlings are sud- 
denly cut at right angles. What is to 
be done? How stall an end be put to 
this? A tempest ceases; a cyclone pass- 
es, a wiud goes down, a broken mast is 
replaced, a leak is stopped, a fire put 
out; but what shall be doue with this 
enormous brute of bronze? How try to 
secure it? You can reason with a bull- 
dog, astonish a bull, fascinate a boa^ 
frighten a tiger, soften a lion; no re- 
source with such a monster as a loose 
cannon. You cannot kill it, it is dead; 
and at the same time it lives with a sin- 
ister life which comes from the infinite. 
It is moved by the ship, which is 
moved by the wind. This exterminator 
is a plaything. The horrible cannon 



IO 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



struggles, advances, retreats, strikes to 
right, strikes the left, (lees, passes, dis- 
concerts expectation, grinds obstacles, 
crushes men like flies. 

The carronade, hurled by the pitch- 
ing, made havoc in the group of men. 
crushing four at the lir.-t blow; then re- 
ceding and brought back by the rolling, 
it cut a fifth unfortunate man in two, 
and dashed against the larboard side a 
piece of the battery which it dismount- 
ed. Thence came the cry of distiess 
which had been heard. All the men 
rushed towards the ladder. The bat- 
tery was emptied in a twinkling of an 
eye 

The captain and lieutenant, although 
both intrepid men, had halted at the 
head of the ladder, and dumb, pale, 
ting, looked down into the lower 
deck. Some cue pushed them to one 
side with his elbow and descended. 

It was an old man, a passenger. 

Once at the foot of the ladder, lie 
stood 

Hither and thither along the lower 
deck came the caunon. One might 
have thought it the living chariot of the 
Apocalypse. 

The lour wheels passed and repassed 
over the dead men, cutting, carving, 
and slashing them, and of the five corp- 
ses made twenty fragments which 
rolled across the battery: the lifeless 
head seemed to cry out; streams of 
blood wreathed on the floor following 
the rolling of the ship. The ceiling, 
damaged in several places, commenced 
to open a little. All the vessel was filled 
with a monstrous noise. 

The ciptain promptly regained his 
ice <»f mind, and caused to be 
thrown into the lower deck all that 
could allay and fetter the unbridled 
course of the cannon, — mattresses, 
hammocks, spare sails, rolls of cord- 
age, bags of equipments, and bales of 
counterfeit assign ats, of which the cor- 
vette had a full cargo. 

But of what avail these rags? No- 



body daring to go down and place them 
properly, in a few minutes they were 
lint. 

There was just sea enough to make 
the accident as complete as possible. A 
tempest would have been desirable; it 
might have thrown the cannon upside 
down, and, once the four wheels were 
in the air, it could have been mastered. 
As it was, the havoc increased. There 
were dialings and even fractures in the 
masts, which, jointed into the frame of 
the keel, go through the floors of ves- 
sels and are like great round pillars. 
Under the convulsive blows of the can- 
non, the foremast had cracked, the 
mainmast itself was cut. The battery 
was disjointed, Ten pieces out of the 
thirty were kors de combat; the breaches 
in the sides multiplied, and the corvette 
commenced to take in water. 

The old passenger who had gone 
down to the lower deck seemed a man 
of stone at the bottom of the ladder. 
He did not stir. It seemed impossible 
to take a step in the battery. 

They must perish, or cut short the 
disaster; something must be done, but 
what V 

What a combatant that carronade 
was ! 

That frightful maniac must be 
stopped. 

That lightning must be averted. 

That thunder-bolt must be conquered. 

The captain said to the lieutenant: 

"Do you believe in God, Cheveiier?" 

"Yes. No. Sometimes. " 

'In the tempest?" 

"Yes. And in moments like this." 

"In reality God only can rid us of 
this trouble." 

All were hushed, leaving the cannon 
to do its horrible work. 

Outside, the billows beating the ves- 
sel answered the blows of the cannon. 
It was like two hammers alternately. 

All of a sudden, iu that kiud of una] - 
proachable circuit wherein the escaped 
cannon bounded, a man appeared, with 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



i i 



in iron bar in his hand. It was the au- 
thor of the catastrophe, the chief gun- 
ner, guilty of negligence and the cause 
of the accident, the master of. the car- 
ronade. Having done the harm, he 
wished to repair it. lie had grasped a 
handpike in one hand, some gun-tackle 
with a slip-knot in the other, and jump- 
ped upon the lower deck. 

Then a wild exploit commenced; a 
Titanic spectacle; the combat of the 
gun with the gunner; the battle of mat- 
ter and intelligence; the duel of the 
animate and the inanimate. 

The man had posted himself in a 
corner, and with his bar and rope in 
his two fists, leaning against one of the 
riders, standing firmly on his legs 
which iike two pillars of steel, 

livid, calm, tragic, as though rooted to 
the floor, he waited. 

He was waiting for the cannon to 
pass near him. 

The gunner knew his piece, and it 
seemed to him that it must know him. 
He had lived for some time with it. 
How many times he had thrust his hand 
into its jaws! It was his tamed monster. 
He commenced talking to it as he would 
to his dog. 

"Come," said he. He loved it, maybe. 

He seemed to wish that it would come 
towards him. 

But to come towards him would he to 
come upon him. And then he was lost. 
How avoid the crush? That was the 
question. All looked upon the scene, 
terrified. 

Not a breast breathed freely, except, 
perhaps, that of the old man who alone 
was on the lower deck with the two 
•combatants, a sinister witness. 

He might himself be- crushed by the 
piece. He stirred not. 

Under them the blinded see directed 
the combat. 

At the moment when, accepting this 
dreadful hand-to-hand encounter, the 
gunner challenged the cannon, a chance 
rolling of the sea kept it immovable as 



if stupefied. "Come then!" said the 
man. It seemed to Listen. 
Suddenly it jumped towards him. 

The man escaped the shock. 

Thestruggle began. A struggle un- 
heard of. The fragile wrestling with 
invulnerable. The monster of flesh at- 
tacking the brazen beast. On one side 
force, on the other a soul. 

All this was passing in a shadow. It 
was like the indistinct vision of a prod- 
igy- 

Asoul! a strange tiling! one would 
have thought the cannon had one also, 
but a soul of hate and rage. This sight- 
ling seemed to have eyes. The 
monster appeared to watch the man. 
There' was— one would have thought so 
at least — running in this mass. 

its moment, it was a kind of 
gigantic insect of iron, having or seem- 
ing to have, the will of a demon. At 
limes, this colossal grasshopper would 
strike the low ceiling of the battery, 
then fall back on its four wheels like a 
tiger on its claws, and commence again 
to dart upon the man. He, supple, 
agile, adroit, writhed like an adder in 
guarding against all these lightning- 
like movements. He avoided encount- 
ers, but the blows he shunned were 
received by the vessel, and continued 
to demolish it. 

An end of broken chain had remain- 
ed hanging to the carronade. One end 
of it was fastenecWto the carriage. The 
other, free, turned desperately around 
tiie cannon and exaggerated all its 
shocks. The chain, multiplying the 
blows and the ram by its lashings, 
caused a terrible whirl around the can- 
non. — an iron whip in a fist of brass — 
and complicated the combat. 

Yet the man struggled. At times, 
even, it was the man who attacked the 
cannon; he crouched along the side, 
holding his bar and his rope; and the 
cannon seemed to understand, and as 
though divining a snare, tied. The 
man, formidable, pursued it. 



12 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Such things cannot last long. The 
cannon seemed to say all at once — 
"Come! there must be an eud to this!" 
and it stopped. The approach of the 
denouement was felt. The cannon, as 
in suspense, seemed to have, or did 
have, — because for all it was like a 
living thing— a ferocious premeditation, 
Suddenly, it precipitated itself on the 
gunner. The gunner drew to one side, 
let it pass, and called to it, laughing — 
"Try again." The cannon, as though 
furious, broke a carronade to larboard; 
then, seized again by the invisible sling 
which held it, bounded to starboard 
towards the man. who escaped. Three 
carronades sunk down under the pres- 
sure of the cannon; then as though 
blind, and knowing no longer what it 
was doing, it turned its back to the 
men. rolled backward and forward, put 
the stem out of order, and made a 
breach in the wall of the prow. The 
man had taken refuge at the foot of the 
ladder a few steps from the old man 
who was present. The gunner held his 
handspike at rest. The cannon seemed 
to perceive him, and without taking the 
trouble to turn around, fell back on the 
man with the promptness of an axe- 
stroke. The man if driven against the 
side was lost. And the crew gave a cry. 

But the old passenger, till then im- 
movable, sprang forward, more rapidly 
than all those wild rapidities. He has 
seized a bale of false assignats, and, at 
the risk of being crushed he had suc- 
ceeded in throwing it between the 
wheels of the cannon. This decisive 
and perilous movement could not have 
been executed with more promptness 
and precision by a man accustomed to all 
the manoeuvres of sea gunnery. 

The bale had the effect of a plug. A 
pebble stops a bulk a branch of a tree 
diverts an avalanche. The cannon 
stumbled. The'gunner in his turu, tak- 
ing advantage of the terrible juncture, 
plunged his iron bar between the spokes 
of one of the hind wheels The cannon 
stopped 



It leaned forward. The man using 
his bar as a lever, made it rock. The 
heavy mass turned over with the noise 
of the bell tumbling down, and the 
man, rushing headlong, trickling with 
sweat, attached the slip-knot of the 
gun-tackle to the bronze neck of the 
conquered monster. 

It was finished. The man had van- 
quished. The ant had subdued the 
mastodon; the pigmy had made a 
prisoner of the thunderbolt. 

— From " Ninety Three." 



Death-bed of Benedict Arnold. 

GEORGE LEPARD. 

Fifty years ago, in a rude garret, near 
the loneliest suburbs of the city of 
London, lay a dying man. He was but 
half dressed; though his legs were con- 
cealed in long military boots. An aged 
minister stood beside the rough couch. 
The form was that of a strong man 
grown old through care more than age. 
There was a face that } t ou might look 
upon but once, and yet wear it in your 
memory forever. 

Let us bend over the bed, and look 
upon that face. A bold forehead seam- 
ed by one deep wrinkle visible between 
the brows — long locks of dark hair, 
sprinkled with gray; lips firmly set, yet 
quivering, as though they had a life 
separate from the life of the man; and 
then, two large eyes — vivid, burning, 
unnatural in their steady glare. Ay, 
there was something terrible in that 
face — something so full of unnatural 
loneliness— unspeakable despair, that 
the aged minister started back in horror. 
But look! those strong arms are clutch- 
ing at the vacant air: the death-sweat 
stands in drops on that bold brow — the 
man is dying. Throb — throb — throb — 
beats the death-watch in the shattered 
wall. "Would you die in the faith of the 
Christian V" faltered the j)reachei\ as 
he knelt there on the damp fioor. 

The white lips of the death-stricken 
man trembled, but made no sound. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Then with the strong agony of death 
upon him, he rose into a sitting posture. 

F( r the iirst time he spoke. "Christian I" 
he echoed in that deep tone which 
thrilled the preacher to the heart: 
Will that faith give me back my honor? 
Come with me, old man, come with me, 
far over the waters. Ha! we are there! 
This is my native town. Yonder is the 
church in which I knelt in childhood: 
yonder the green on which I sported 
when a boy. But another flag waves 
yonder, in place of the flag that waved 
when I was a child. 

"And listen, old man, were I to pass 
along the streets; as I passed when but 
a child, the very babes in their cradles 
would raise their tiny hands and curse 
me! The g r a \* e s i u y o u d e r c h u re h -3' ard 
would shrink from my footsteps, and 
yonder flag would rain a baptism of 
blood upon my head!" 

That was an awful death- bed. The 
minister had watched "the last night" 
with a hundred convicts in their cells, 
but had never beheld a scene so terrible 
as this. Suddenly the dying man arose: 
he tottered along the floor. With 
those white fingers, whose nails were 
blue with the death-chill, he threw open 
a valise. He drew from thence a laded 
coat of blue, faced with silver, and the 
wreck of a battle-flag. 

"Look ye priest! this faded coat is 
spotted with my blood!" he cried, as old 
memories seemed stirring in his heart. 
" This coat I wore, when I first heard 
the news of Lexington: this coat I wore, 
when I planted the banner of the stars 
on Ticonderoga! that bullet-hole was 
pierced in the fight of Quebec; and now, 
I am a — let me whisper it in your ear!" 
He hissed that single burning word into 
the minister's ear: Now help me, priest 
help me to put on this coat of blue; for 
you see" — and a gastly smile came over 
his face — "there is no one here to wipe 
the cold drops from my brow: no wife: 
no child. I must meet Death alone; 
but I will meet him, as I have met him 
in battle, without a fear!" 



And, while he stood arraying his 
Limbs in that worm-eaten coat of blue 
and silver, the good minister -poke to 
him of faith in Jesus. Yes, of that 
great faith, which pierces the clouds 
of human guilt, and rolls them back 
from the face of God. "Faith!" echoed 
that strange man, who stood erect, 
with the death-chill on his brow, "Faith! 
Can it give me back my honor V Look 
ye priest! there over the waves, sits 
George Washington, telling to his com 
rades the pleasant story of the eight 
years' war: there, in his royal halls, -sits 
George of England, bewailing, in his 
idiotic voice, the loss of the colonies! 
And here am I ! — I, who was the first 
to raise the flag of freedom, the first to 
strike a blow against that king — here 
am I, dying! oh, dying like a dog!" 

The awe-striken preacher started 
back from the look of the dying man, 
while throb— throb — beats the death- 
watch, in the shattered wall. "Hush! 
silence along the lines there!" he mut 
tered, in that wild, absent tone, as 
though speaking to the dead; "silence 
along the lines! not a word — not a word, 
on peril of your lives! Hark you, 
Montgomery! we will meet in the cen- 
tre of the town: — we will meet there in 
victory, or die! Hist! silence, my men 
— not a whisper, as we move up those 
steep rocks! Now on, my boys — now 
on! Men of the wilderness, we will 
gain the town! ^ow up with the ban 
ner of the stars— up with the flag of 
freedom, though the night is dark, and 
the snow falls! Now! now, one more 
blow, and Quebec is ours!" 

And look! his eye grows glassy. 
With that word on his lips, he stauils 
there ah! what a hideous picture of de- 
spair: erect, livid, ghastly: there for a 
moment, and then he falls! — he is dead! 
Ah, look at that proud form, thrown 
cold and stiff upon the damp floor. In 
that glassy eye there lingers, even yet. 
a horrible energy — a sublimity of de- 
spair. Who is this strange man tying 



H 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



there alone, in this rude garret: this 
man. who. in all his crimes, still treas- 
ured up in that blue uniform, that faded 

flag? Who is this being of horrible re- 
morse—this man. whose memories seem 
to liuk something with heaven, aud 
more with hell V 

Let us look at that parchment and 
flag. The aged minister unrolls that 
faded Hag; it is a blue banner gleaming 
with thirteen stars. He unrolls that 
parchment: it is a colonel's commis- 
sion in the Continental army addressed 
to Benedict Arnold! And there, in 
that rude hut, while the death-watch 
throbbed like a heart in the shattered 
wall: there, unknown, unwept, in all 
the bitterness of desolation, lay the 
corpse of the patroit and the traitor. 

Oh that our own true Washington 
had been there, to sever that good right 
arm from the corpse; and, while the dis- 
honored body rotted into dust, to bring 
home that noble arm, and embalm it 
among the holiest memories of the past. 
For that right arm struck many a gal- 
lant blow for freedom: yonder at Ticon- 
dergo, at Quebec, Champlaiu, and Sar- 
atoga — that arm, yonder, beneath the 
snow white mountains, in the deep sil- 
ence of the river of the dead, first rais- 
ed into light the Banner of the Stars. 



The Two Roads. 

JEAN PAUL KICHTEK. 

1. It was New Year's night. An 
aged man was standing at a window. 
He raised his mournful eyes toward the 
deep blue sky, where the stars were 
floating, like white lillies, on the sur- 
face of a clear calm lake. Then he cast 
them on the earth, where few more 
hopeless beings than himself now moved 
toward their certain goal — the tomb. 

Already he had passed sixty of 
the stages which lead to it, and he had 
brought from his journey nothing but 
errors and remorse. His health was 
destroyed, his mind vacant, his heart 



sorrowful, and his old age devoid of 
comfort. 

3. The days of his youth rose up in 
a vision before him, and he recalled the 
solemn moment when his father had 
placed him at the entrance of two 
roads.— one leading into a peaceful, 
sunny land, covered with a fertile har- 
vest, and resounding with soft sweet 
songs; while the other conducted the 
wanderer into a deep dark cave, whence 
there was no issue, where poison flow- 
ed instead of water, and where serpents 
hissed and crawled. 

4. He looked toward the sky, and 
cried out in his agony: "O youth, re- 
turn! O my father, place me once 
more at the entrance to life, that I may 
choose the better way!" But the days 
of his youth and his father had both 
passed away. 

5. He saw wandering lights floating 
away over dark marshes, and then dis- 
appear. These were the days of his. 
wasted life. He saw a star fall from 
heaven, and vanish in darkness. This 
was an emblem of himself; and the 
sharp arrows of unavailing remorse 
struck home to his heart. Then he re- 
membered his early companions who 
entered on life with him, but who hav- 
ing trod the paths of virtue and of la- 
bor, were now honored aud happy on 
this New Year's night. 

6. The clock, in the high church 
tower, struck, and the sound, falling 
on his ear, recalled his parents early 
love for him, their erring son; the les- 
sous they taught him; the prayers they 
had offered up in his behalf. Over- 
whelmed with shame aud grief he dar- 
ed no longer look toward that heaven 
where his father dwelt; his darkened 

dropped tears, and with one de- 
sparing effort,, he cried aloud: "Come 
back, my early days! come back!" 

7. And his youth did return; fur all 
this was but a dream which visited his 
slumbers on New- Year's night. He 
was still young; his faults alone were 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



i5 



real. Be thanked God fervently, that 
time was still his own; that he had not 
yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but 
that he was free to tread the road lead- 
ing to the peaceful land, where; sunny 
harvests wave. 

8. Ye who still linger on t lie thres- 
hold of life, doubting which path to 
choose, remember that, when years are 
passed, and your feet stumble on the 
dark mountain, you will cry bitterly, 
but cry in vain : "O youth, return! 

O GIVE ME BACK MY EARLY DAYS!" 



The Fireman's Prayer. 

IUSSELL A. CONWELL. 

It was in the gray of the early morn- 
ing, in the season of Lent. Broad 
(street, from Fort Hill to State street, 
was crowded with hastening worship- 
ers, attendants on early mass. Maid- 
ens, matrons, boys and men jostled and 
hurried on toward the churches: some 
with countenances sincerely sad, others 
with apparent attempts to appear in ac- 
cord with the sombre season; while 
many thoughtless and careless ones 
joked and chatted, laughed and scuffled 
along in the hurrying multitude. Sud- 
denly a passer by noticed tiny wreaths 
and purl's of smoke starting from the 
shingles of a large warehouse. The great 
structure stood upon the corner, silent, 
bolted, and tenantless; and all the win- 
dows, save a small round light in the 
upper story, were closely and securely 
covered with heavy shutters. Scarcely- 
had the smoke been seen by one, when 
others of the crowd looked up in the 
same direction, and detected the unus- 
ual occurrence. Then others joined 
them, and still others followed, until a 
swelling multitude gazed upward to 
the roof over which the smoke soon 
hung like a fog; while from eaves and 
shutters of the upper story little jets of 
black smoke burst suddenly out into 
the clear morning air. Then came a 
Hash, like tlie lightning's glare, through 



the frame of the little gable window, 
and then another, brighter, ghastlier, 
and more prolonged. "Fire:" "Fire!" 
screamed the throng, as, moved by a 
single impulse^ they pointed with ex- 
cited gestures towards the window. 
Quicker than tin; time it takes to tell, 
the cry reached the corner, and was 
Hashed on messenger wires to tower 
and steeple, engine and hose-house, 
over the then half-sleeping city, Great 
bells with ponderous tongues repeated 
the cry with logy strokes, little bells 
with sharp and spiteful clicks recited 
the news; while half conscious firemen, 
watching through the long night, leap- 
ed upon engines and hose carriages, 
and rattled into the street. 

Soon the roof of the burning ware- 
house was drenched with floods of 
water, poured upon it from the hose of 
many engines; while the surging multi- 
tude in Broad street had grown to 
thousands of excited spectators. The 
engines puffed and hooted, the hoo k- 
and-ladder boys clambered upon roof 
and cornice, shattered the shutters and 
burst in the doors, making way for the 
rescuer of merchandise, and for the 
surging nozzles of available hose-pipes. 
But the wooden structure was a seeth- 
ing furnace throughout all its upper 
portions; while the water and ventila- 
tion seemed only to increase its power 
and fury. 

"Come down! £.'ome down! Off 
that roof! Come out of that building!" 
shouted an excited man in the crowd, 
struggling with all his power in the 
meshes of the solid mass of mei., women 
and children in the strret. •'Come 
down For God's sake come down! The 
rear store is filled with gunpowder!" 

"Powder! Powder!" screamed the en- 
gineer through ids trumpet. "Powder" 
shouted the hosemen. "Powder!" call- 
ed the brave boys on roof ami cornice. 
"Powder" answered the trumpet of the 
chief. "Powder!" "Powder!" ' Pow- 
der! 1 ' echoed the men in the burning 



i6 



Olmsteda's Recitations. 



pile; and from ladder, casement, win- 
dow, roof, and cornice, leaped terrified 
firemen with pale faces and terror- 
stricken limbs. 

'Tush back the croud:" shouted the 
engineer. "Run for your lives! Run! 
Run! Run!" roared the trumpets. 

But alas! the crowd was dense, and 
spread so far through cross streets and 
alleys, that away on the outskirts, 
through the shouts of men, the whist- 
ling of the engines, and the roar of the 
heaven-piercing flames, the orders could 
not be heard. The frantic beings in 
front, understanding the danger, press- 
ed wildly back. The firemen pushed 
their engines and their carriages against 
the breasts of the crowd but the throng 
moved not. So densely packed was 
the street and square, and so various 
and deafening the noises, that the army 
of excited spectators in the rear still 
pressed forward with irresistible force, 
unconscious of danger, and regarding 
any out cry as a mere ruse to disperse 
them for convenience' sake. The great 
mass swayed and heaved like the waves 
of the sea; but beyond the terrible surg- 
ing of those in front, whose heart-rend- 
ing screams half drowned the whistles, 
there was no sign of retreat. As far as 
one could see, the streets were crowded 
with living human flesh and blood. 

"My God! My God!" said the en- 
gineer in despair. What can be done? 
Lord have mercy on us all What can 
be done:'" 

'What can be done? I'll tell you 
what can be done," said one of Boston's 
firemen, whose hair was not yet sprinkl- 
ed with gray. Yes, bring out that pow- 
der! And I'm the man to do it. Better 
one man perish than perish all. Follow 
me with the water, and, if God lets me 
live long enough, I'll have it out." 

Perhaps, as the hero rushed into the 
burning pile, into a darkness of smoke 
and a withering heat, he thought of the 
wife and children at home, of the 
cheeks he had kissed in the evening, of 



the cheerful good-by of the prattling 
ones, and the laugh as he gave the "last 
tag;" for as he rushed from the hose- 
man who tied the handkerchief over his 
mouth, he muttered, "God care for my 
little ones when I am gone." Away up 
through smoke and flames and cloud to 
the heights of Heaven's throne, ascend- 
ed that prayer, "God care for my little 
ones when I am gone." and the mighty 
Father and the loving Son heard the 
fireman's petition. 

Into the flame of the rear store rush- 
ed the hero, and gropiug to the barrels, 
rolled them speedily into the alley, 
where surged the stream from the en- 
gines; rushiug back and forth with 
power superhuman, in the deepest 
smoke, when even the hoops that bound 
the powder-barrels had already parted 
with fire, while deadly harpoons loaded 
to pierce the whales of the Arctic s^as 
began to explode, and while iron darts 
flashed by him in all directions, pene- 
trating the walls and piercing the ad- 
jacent buildings. But as if his heroic 
soul was armor-proof, or a charm 
impenetrable, neither harpoon nor 
bomb, crumbling timbers nor showers 
of naming brands, did him aught of in- 
jnry, beyond the scorching of his hair 
and eye brows, and the blistering of his 
hands and face. 'Twas a heroic deed. 
Did ever field of battle, wreck, or mar- 
t}-dom, show a braver? No act in all 
list of song and story, no self-sacrifice 
in the history of the rise and fall of em- 
pires, was nobler than that, save one, 
and then the Son of God himself hung 
bleeding on the cross. 



The Ambitious Youth- 
Elihu Burritt. 
The scene opens with a \ iew of the 
great Natural Bridge in Virginia. 
There are three or four lads standing 
in the channel below, looking up with 
awe to that vast arch of unhewn rocks, 
which the Almighty bridged over those 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



17 



everlasting abutments "when the morn- 
ing stars sung together." The little 
piece of sky spanning those measure- 
less piers is full of stars, a!t hough it is 
mid-day. 

It is almost five hundred feet from 
Where they Stand, up those perpendicu- 
lar bulwarks of limestone, to the key- 
rock of that vast arch, which appears 
to them only the size of a man's 
hand. The silence of death is rendered 
more impressive by the little stream 
that falls from rock to rock down the 
channel. The sun is darkened, and the 
boys have unconsciously uncovered 
their heads, as if standing in the pres- 
ence-chamber of the Majesty of the 
Whole earth. 

At last this feeling begins to wear 
•away; they begin to look around them; 
they find that others have been there 
before them. They see the names of hun- 
dreds cut in the limestone abutments. 
A new feeling comes over their young 
hearts, and their knives are in their 
hands in an instant. "What man has 
done, man can do," is their watchword, 
while they draw themselves Up, and 
carve their names a foot above those of 
a hundred full-grown men who have 
been there before them. 

They are all satisfied with this feat of 
physical exertion, except one, whose 
example illustrates perfectly the forgot- 
ten truth. that there is no royal road to 
intellectual eminence. This ambitious 
youth sees a name just above his reach 
— a name that will be green in the 
memory of the world, when those of 
Alexander, Ca'sar and Bonaparte shall 
be lost in oblivion. It is the name of 
Washington. 

Before he marched with Braddock to 
that fatal field, he had been there, and 
left his name above all his predecessors. 
It was a glorious thought of the boy, to 
Write his name side by side with that 
of the great father of his country. He 
grasped his knife with a firmer hand, 
and clinging to a little jutting crag, he 



cuts a gain into the limestone, about a 
foot above where he stands; he then 
reaches up and cuts another lor his 
hands. 

Tis a dangerous adventure: but as he 
puts his feci and hands into those gains, 
and draws himself up carefully to his 
full length, he finds himself a foot above 
every name chronicled in that mighty 
wall. While his companions are re- 
garding him with concern and admira- 
tion, he cuts his name in rude capitals, 
large and deep in that flinty album. 

His knife is still in his hand, and 
strength in his sinews, and a new 
created aspiration in his heart. Again 
he cuts another niche, and again he 
carves Ids name in larger capitals. 
This is not enough. Heedless of the 
entreaties of his companions, he cuts 
and climbs again. The gradations of 
his ascending scale grow wider apart. 
He measures his length at every gain he 
cuts. The voices of his friends wax 
weaker and weaker, till their words are 
finally lost on his ear. 

He now for the first time, cast a look 
beneath him. Had that glance lasted a 
moment, that moment would have 
been his last He clings with a con- 
vulsive shudder to his little niche in the 
rock. An awful abyss awaits his al- 
most certain fall. He is faint with 
severe exertion, and trembling from 
the sudden view of the dreadful de- 
struction to which he is exposed. His 
kuife is worn half way to the haft. 
He can hear the voices, but not the 
words of his terror-stricken companions 
below. What a moment! W 7 hat a 
meagre chance to escape destruction! 
There is no retracing his steps. It is 
impossible to put his hand into the 
same niche with his feet, and retain his 
slender hold a moment. 

His companions instantly perceive 
this new and fearful dilemma, and 
await his fall with emotions that "freeze 
their young blood." He is too high, 
to faint, to ask for his lather and moth- 



[8 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



er, and brothers and sisters, to come 
and witness or avert his destruction. 
But one of his companions anticipates 

his desire. Swift as the wind, he 
hounds down the channel, and the 
situation of the fated boy is told upon 
his father's hearth-stone. 

Minutes of almost eternal length roll 
on, and there are hundreds standing in 
that rocky ehaunel, and hundreds on 
the bridge above. ail holding their breath, 
and awaiting the fearful catastrophe. 
The poor boy hears the hum of new 
and numerous voices both above and 
below. He can distinguish the tones of 
his father, who is shouting, with all the 
energy of despair, "William! William! 
don't look down! Your mother, and 
Henry, and Harriet, are all here, pray- 
ing for you! Don't look down! Keep 
your eye towards the top!" 

The boy did not look down. His eye 
is fixed like a flint towards heaven, and 
his young heart on Him who reigns 
there. He grasps again his knife. He 
cuts another niche, and another 
foot is added to the hundreds that re- 
move him from the reach of human 
help from below. How earefully he 
uses his wasting blade! How anxiously 
he seleets the softest places in that vast 
pier! How he avoids every flinty grain. 
How he economizes his physical pow- 
ers, resting a moment at each gain he 
cuts! How every motion is watched 
from below! There stands his father, 
mother brother, and sister, on the 
very spot, where, if he falls, he will not 
fall alone. 

The sun is half way down the west. 
The lad has made fifty additional niches 
in that mighty wall, and now finds 
himself directly under the middle of 
that vast arch of rocks, earth and trees. 
He must cut his way in a new direction, 
to get from under the overhanging 
mountain. The inspiration of hope is 
dying in his bosom; its vital heat is fed 
by the increasing shouts of hundreds, 
perched upon cliffs and trees and 



others who stand with ropes in their 
hands on the bridge above, or with lad- 
ders below. 

Fifty more gains must be cut before 
the longest rope can reach him. His 
wasting blade strikes again into the 
limestone. The boy is emerging pain- 
fully, foot by foot, from under that 
lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in 
the hands of those who are leaning over 
the outer edge of the bridge. Two min- 
utes more and all must be over. The 
blade is worn to the last half inch. 
The boys head reels; his eyes are start- 
ing from their sockets. His last hope 
is dviug in his heart; his life must hang 
on the next gain he cuts. That niche is 
his last. 

At the last faint gash he makes, his 
knife — his faithful knife — falls from his 
little nerveless hand, and ringing along 
the precipice, falls at his mother's feet. 
An involuntary groan of despair runs 
like a death-knell through the channel 
below, and all is still as the grave. At 
the height of nearly three hundred feet, 
the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart 
and closes his eyes to commend his soul 
to God. 

Tis but a moment — there! one foot 
swings off — he is reeling — trembling — 
toppling over into eternity! Hark! a 
shout falls on his ear from above! The 
man who is lying with half his length 
over the bridge, has caught a glimpse 
of the boy's head and shoulders. Quick 
as thought the noosed rope is within 
reach of the sinking youth. No one 
breathes. With a faint convulsive ef- 
fort, the swooning boy drops his arms 
into the noose. Darkness comes over 
him, and with the words "God-Mother v 
— whispered on his lips just loud enough 
to be heard in heaven — the tightening 
rope lifts him out of his last shallow 
niche. Not a lip moves while he is 
dangling over that fearful abyss; but 
when a sturdy Virginian reaehe: down 
and draws up the lad, and holds him up 
in his arms before the tearful, breath- 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



19 



less multitude, such shouting — such 
leaping and weeping for joy — never 
greeted the ear of human being so re- 
covered from the yawning gulf of 
eternity. 



Regulus to the Carthaginians. 

E. Kellogg. 

The beams of the rising sun had gild- 
ed the lofty summits of Carthage, and 
given, with its rich and mellow tinge of 
beauty even to the frowning ramparts 
of the outer harbor. Sheltered by the 
verdant shores, an hundred triremes 
were riding proudly at their ancnors, 
their brazen beaks glittering in the sun, 
their streamers dancing iu the morning 
breeze, while many a shattered plank 
and timber gave evidence of desperate 
conflict with the fleets of Rome. 

No murmur of business or of revelry 
arose from the city. The artisan had 
forsaken his shop, the judge his 
tribunal, the priest the sanctuary, and 
even the stern stoic had come forth 
from his retirement to mingle with the 
crowd that, anxious and agitated, were 
rushing towards the senate-house, 
startled by the report that Regulus had 
returned to Carthage. 

Onward, still onward, (trampling each 
other under foot,) they rushed, furious 
with anger and eager for revenge. Fa- 
thers were there, whose sons were 
groaning in fetters; maidens, whose 
lovers, weak and wounded were dyiug 
in the dungeons of Rome, and gray- 
haired men and matrons, whom the 
Roman sword had left childless. 

But when the stern features of Regu- 
lus were seen, and his colossal form 
towering above the ambassadors who 
hart returned with him from Rome; 
when the news passed from lip to lip 
that the dreaded warrior, so far from 
advising the Roman senate to consent 
to an exchange of prisoners, had urged 
them to pursue, with exterminating 



vengeance, Carthage and Carthaginians, 

— the multitude swayed to a id fro like 
a forest beneath a tempest, and the 
rage and hate of that tumultous throng 
vented itself in groans, and curses, and 
yells of vengeance, But calm, cold and 
immovable as the marble walls around 
him, stood the Roman; and he stretch- 
ed out his hand over that frenzied 
crowd, with gesture as proudly com- 
manding as though he still stood at the 
head of the gleaming cohorts of Rome. 

The tumult ceased; the curse, half 
muttered, died upon the lip; and so 
intense w T as the silence, that the clank- 
ing of the brazen manacles upon the 
wrists of the captive fell sharp and full 
upon every ear in that vast assembly, 
as he thus addressed them: — 

"Ye doubtless thought — for ye judge 
of Roman virture by your own — that 
I would break my plighted oath, rather 
than, returning, brook your vengeance. 
I might give reason for this, in Punic 
comprehension, most foolish act of 
mine. I might speak of those eternal 
principles which make death for one's 
country a pleasure, not a pain. But, 
by great Jupiter! methinksl should de- 
base myself to talk of such high things 
to you; to you, expert in womanly in- 
ventions; fo you well-skilled to drive a 
treacherous trade with simple Africans 
for ivory and gold! If the bright blood 
that fills my veins, transmitted free 
from godlike ancestry, were like that 
slimy ooze which stagnates in your 
arteries, I had remained at home, and 
broke my plighted oath to save my life. 
"I am a Roman citizen; therefore 
have I returned, that ye might work 
your will upon this mass of flesh and 
bones, that I esteem no higher than the 
rags that cover them. Here, in your 
capital, do I defy you. Have I not 
conquered your armies, tired your 
towns, • and dragged your generals at 
my chariot wheels, since first my youth- 
ful arms could wield a spear? And do 
you think to see me crouch and cower 



20 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



before a tamed and shattered senate? 
The tearing of flesh and rending of 

sinews is but pastime compared with 
the mental agony that heaves my frame. 

"The moon has searce yet waned 
since the proudest of Rome's proud 
matrons, the mother upon whose breast 
I slept, and whose fair brow so oft had 
bent over me before the noise of battle 
had stirred my blood, or the tieree toil of 
war nerved my sinews, did with fond- 
est memory of bygone hours entreat 
me to remain. I have seen her, who, 
when my country called me to the field 
did buckle on my harness with tremb- 
ling hands, while the tears fell thick 
and fast down the hard corselet scales, 
— I have seen her tear her gray locks 
and beat her aged breast, as on her 
knees she begged me not to return to 
Carthage; and all the assembled senate 
of Rome, grave and reverend men, 
proffered the same request. The puny 
torments which ye have in store for to 
welcome me withal, shall be, to what I 
have endured, even as the murmur of a 
summer's brook to the fierce roar of 
angry surges on a rocky beach. 

"Last night, as I lay fettered in my 
dungeon, I heard a strange ominous 
sound, it seemed like the distant march 
of some vast army, their harness clang- 
ing as they marched, when suddenly 
there stood by me Xanthippus, the 
Spartan general, by whose' aid you 
conquered me, and, with a voice low 
as when the solemn wind moans through 
the leafless forest, he thus addressed 
me: ' Roman, I come to bid thee curse, 
with thy dying breath this, fated 
city; know that in an evil moment, the 
Carthaginians generals, f rious with 
rage that I had conquered thee, their 
conqueror, did basely murder me. 
And then they thought to stain my 
brightest honor. But for this foul deed, 
the wrath of Jove shall rest upon them 
here and hereafter.' And then he 
vanished. 

" And now, go bring your sharpest 



torments. The woes I see impending 
over this guilty realm shall be enough 
to sweeten death, though every nerve 
and artery were a shooting pang. I 
die! but my death shall prove a proud 
triumph; and, for every drop of blood 
ye from my veins do draw, your own 
shall liow in rivers. Woe to thee, Car- 
thage! Woe to the proud city of the 
waters! I see thy nobles wailing at the 
feet of Roman senators! thy citizens 
in terror! thy ships in flames I hear 
the victorious shouts of R me! I see 
her eagles glittering on thy ramparts. 
Proud city thou art doomed! The 
curse of God is on thet — a clinging, 
wasting curse. It shall not leave thy 
gates till hungry flames shall lick the 
fretted gold from off thy proud palaces, 
and every brook runs crimson to the 
sea." 



At the Tomb of Grant. 

The following is the closing portion 
of the eloquent address of Hon. John 
S. Wise of Virginia, at Riverside Park, 
by the tomb of Grant, Memorial Da}': 

"And this, my brethren of the North 
and South, is the vision which I saw of 
late. 

Through the open portals of the 
Great Beyond I saw the boundless 
plains of Walhalls— where, far as the 
eye could reach, were spread the snowy 
tents of Ghostly Legions ranged be- 
neath the banner of Eternal Peace. 

I heard the booming of Heaven's Ar- 
tillery, the strains of Celestial Bands, 
and the hoarse roar of shouting thous- 
ands. 

Here and there, out of the hurrying 
hosts stood out the faces of the Long 
Ago, young and fresh, as we kuew them 
when they volunteered, the scars all 
gone — the blood stains washed away. 

Now and again, came forth clarion 
voices of command; voices silent since 
we heard them in the beleaguered line 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



21 



of Petersburg, or in the blood angle of 
Spottsylvania; voices which startle the 
doting memory, and make the old heart 
leap, if but for one throb, with the 
pulse of a long dead youth. 

I saw and heard them all. Just as 
we knew them. Your brothers and 
ours. Your old General ami ours. No 
longer arrayed in opposing ranks, but 
side by side, as brethren. 

Once again I heard the steady tramp 
and saw the wheel and flash of march- 
ing thousands, at a grand review. 

On a sunny slope, in a most pellucid 
air beneath a streaming standard fan- 
ned by supernal breezes, I saw the 
tield and staff of the Army of Peace. 

There sat Grant on Egypt, and by 
his side was Lee on Traveler, the same 
Grant and Lee we knew of old, save 
that the lines of strife and care were 
smoothed away. — Clustered around 
them in fraternal groups, were all our 
early loved and lost. 

There were Sedgwick and Key u olds, 
and Wadsworth — Albert Sidney Johns- 
ton, Stonewall Jackson and Pat Cle- 
burne. 

There were McPerson and Phil Kear- 
ney. There were Garnet and Armi- 
stead with their Gettysburg smile — 
there were the Pegrams, standing near 
to Meade. 

Hancock and Brekenridge were side 
by side — Bragg and McClellan — Thom- 
as and Hood — Stuart and Sheridan. 
Thus w as the hillside thronged. Thus 
were they mingling in indiscriminate 
fraternity. 

From the Willowy Ferry, where the 
river of time is crossed, where, so long 
ago, Stonewall Jackson crossed over 
and rested beneath the shadow of the 
trees, I saw an escort advancing — up 
the lines it came, surrounding two aged 
warriors, walking arm inarm. From 
right to left, swelling and rolling and 
dying away along the lines, with the 
thrill of the olden days came the wild 
cheering, as Sherman and Johnson pass- 
ed on to rejoin their long lost hosts. 



Then there was massing of men, and 
bushed expectant stilness, as the Great 

Silent spoke — thus: 

' Soldiers of the army of the Hero Dead. 
This day let all rejoice. 

"By the clearer light of truth and 

broader view which we possess, we have; 
been brethren, since; long ago in the 
Land of Eternal Peace. 

Yet hath our happiness been ever 
tempered by regret at thought of our 
earthly brethren — still divided in fra- 
tercidal strife. 

This day dispells that gloom. 

Arm in arm; no longer foes, but 
brethren in a reunited land; Sherman 
and Johnson this day rejoin us, with 
these glad tidings of great joy, more 
prized by us than any earthly treasure. 

It was I who first proclaimed it. 

It was Lee who counselled it 

It is the morning and the evening 
prayer in the camp of the hero dead. 

"Let us have peace." 

At last the boon is granted to our 
brethren in the land for which we died." 

As joy unutterable lit the countenan 
ces of the throng— as the heavens were 
shaken with thundering salvos mingled 
with mighty cheering — the vision pass- 
ed away. 

I awoke au old man on, the spot 
where I had been young, alone on the 
highway which had been thronged— yet 
filled with the joy of that vision, and 
the task of its euterpretation. 

May it linger with the old soldiers of 
the North and South till they realize its 
full significance. 

May its contemplation till their hearts 
with Hope, Faith and Charity: ''and the 
greatest of these is Charity." • 



The Little Match-Girl. 

Hans Christian Anderson. 

It was very cold, the snow fell, and it 
was almost quite dark; for it was eve- 
ning—yes, the last evening of the year. 



22 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Amid the cold and the darkness, a poor 
little girl, with bare head and naked 
feet, was roaming through the streets. 
It is true she had a pair of slippers 
when she left home, but they were not 
of much use. They were very large 
slippers; so large, indeed, that they had 
hitherto been used by her mother; be- 
sides, the little creature lost them as 
she hurried across the street, to avoid 
two carriages that were driving very 
quickly past. One of the slippers was 
not to be found, and the other was 
pounced upon by a boy who ran away 
with it saying that it would serve for a 
cradle when he should have children of 
his own. So the little girl went along, 
with her little bare feet that were red 
and blue with cold. She carried a 
number of matches in an old apron, 
and she held a bundle of them in her 
hand. Nobody had bought anything 
from her the whole livelong day; no- 
body had even given her a penny. 

Shivering with cold and hunger, she 
crept along, a perfect picture of misery 
— poor little thing! The snow-flakes 
covered her long flaxen hair, which 
hung in pretty curls round her throat; 
but she heeded them not now. Lights 
were- streaming from all the windows, 
and there was a savory j-mell of roast 
goose; for it was New Year's Eve. And 
this she did heed. 

She now sat down, cowering in a 
corner formed by two houses, one of 
which projected beyoud the other. She 
had drawn her little feet under her, but 
she felt colder than ever; yet she dared 
not return home, for she had not sold a 
match, and could not bring home a 
peony! She would certainly be beaten 
by her father; and it was cold enough 
at home, besides — for they had only the 
roof above them, and the wind came 
howling through it, though the largest 
holes had been stopped with straw and 
rags. Her little hands were nearly 
frozen with cold. Alas! a single match 
might do her some good, if she might 



only draw one out of the bundle, and 
rub it against the wall, and warm her 
fingers. 

So at last she drew one out. Ah! 
how it sheds sparks, and how it burns! 
It gave out a warm, bright flame, like a 
little candle, as she held her hands over 
it, — truly it was a wonderful little light! 
It really seemed to the little girl as if 
she were sitting before a large iron 
stove, with polished brass feet, and 
brass shovel and tongs. The tire burn- 
ed so brightly, and warmed so nicely, 
that the little creature stretched out her 
feet to warm them likewise, when lo! 
the flame expired, the stove vanished, 
and left nothing but the little half- 
burned match in her hand. 

She rubbed another match against 
the wall. It gave a light, and Avhere it 
shone upon the wall, the latter became 
as transparent as a veil, and she could 
see into the room. A snow-white table 
cloth was spread upon the table, on 
which stood a splendid china dinner 
service, while roast goose stuffed with 
apples and prunes, sent forth the most 
savor}^ fumes. And what was more de- 
lightful still to see, the goose jumped 
down from the dish, and waddled along 
the ground with a knife and fork in its 
breast, up to the poor girl. The match 
then went out, aud nothing remained 
but the thick, damp wall. 

She lit yet another match. She now 
sat under the most magnificent Christ- 
mas tree, that was larger, and more 
superbly decked, th?,n even the one she 
had seen through the glass door at the 
rich merchant's. A thousand tapers 
burned on its green branches, and gay 
pictures, such as one sees on shields, 
seemed to be looking down upon her. 
She stretched out her hands, but the 
match then went out. The Christmas 
lights kept rising higher and higher. 
They now looked like stars in the sky. 
One of them fell down, and left a 
long streak of fire. "Somebody is now 
dying," thought the little girl, — for her 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



23 



old grandmother, the only person who 
had ever loved her, and who was now 
dead, had told her, that when a star 
falls, it is a sign thai a soul is going up 
to heaven. 

She again rubbed a match upon the 
wall, and it was again light all round; 
and in the brightness stood her old 
grandmother, clear and shining like a 
spirit, yet looking so mild and loving. 
"Grandmother," cried the little one, 
oh, take me with yon! I know yon will 
go away when the match goes out,— 
yon will vanish like the warm stove, 
and the delieions roast goose, and the 
fine, large Christmas tree'." And she 
made haste to nib the whole bundle of 
matches, for she wished to hold her 
grandmother fast. And the matches 
gave a light that was brighter than 
noonday. Her grandmother had never 
appeared so beautiful and so large. She 
took the little girl in her arms, and both 
flew upwards, all radiant and joyful, 
far, far above mortal ken, where there 
was neither cold, nor hunger, nor care 
to be found; where there was no rain 
no snow, or stormy wind, but calm 
sunny days the whole year round. 

But, in the cold dawn, the poor girl 
might be seen leaning against the wall, 
with red cheeks and smiling month; 
she had been frozen on the last night of 
the old year. The new year's sun shone 
upon the little dead girl. She sat still 
holding the matches, one bundle of 
which was burned. People said: "She 
tried to warm herself." Nobody 

dreamed of the tine things she had 
seen, nor in what splendor she had en- 
tered, along with her grandmother, up- 
on the joys of the New Year. 



Siarticus to the Gladiators. 



Ye call me chief; and ye do well to 
call him chief, who, for twelve long 
years has met upon the arena, every 



shape of man or beast the broad empire 
of Rome could furnish, and who never 
yet lowered his arm. If there be one 
among you who can say that, ever in 
public fight or private brawl, my act- 
ions did belie my tongue, let him stand 
forth and say it. If there be three in all 
your company dare face me on the 
bloody sands, let them come on, and 
yet 1 was not always thus— a hired 
butcher, a savage chief of still more 
savage men ! 

My ancestors came from old Sparta, 
and settled among the vine-clad rocks 
and citron-groves of Cyrasella, my ear- 
ly life ran quiet as the brooks by which 
I sported; and when at noon I gathered 
the sheep beneath the shade, and played 
upon the shepherd flute, there was a 
friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me 
in the pastime, we led our flocks to the 
same pasture, and partook together our 
rustic meal. One evening alter the 
sheep were folded, and we were all 
seated beneath the myrtle which shad- 
ed our cottage, my grandsire, an old 
man, was telling of Marathon and 
Leuctra; and how, in ancient times a 
little band of Spartans, in a defile of 
the mountains, had withstood a whole 
army. 

I did not know then what war was. 
but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, 
and I clasped the knees of that venera- 
ble man, until my mother, parting the 
hair from off my forehead, 
kissed my throbbing temples and bade 
me go to rest, ancl think no more of 
those old tales and savage wars. That 
very night the Romans landed on our 
coast. I saw the breast that had nour- 
ished me trampled beneath the hoofs of 
the war- horse; the bleeding body of my 
father flung amid the blazing rafters of 
our dwelling! To-day I killed a man 
in the arena; and when I broke his 
helmet-clasps behold! he was my friend. 
He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, 
and died— the same sweet smile upon 
his lips that I had marked when, in ad- 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



venturous boj-hood, we scaled the lofty 
cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, 
and bear them home in childish tri- 
umph. I told the praetor that the dead 
man had been my friend, generous and 
brave, and I begged that I might bear 
away the body, burn it on a funeral 
pile, and mourn over its ashes, ay, up- 
on my knees, amid the dust and blood 
of the arena, I begged that poor boon, 
while all the assembled maids and mat- 
rons, and the holy virgin they call ves- 
tals, and the rabble shouted in derision, 
deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see 
Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale ami 
tremble at sight of that piece of bleed- 
ing clay, and the praetor drew back as 
I were pollution, and sternly said, 'Met 
the carrion rot; there are no noble men 
but Romans!" and so fellow-gladitors, 
must you and so must I die like dogs. 
O Rome! Rome! thou hast been a 
tender nurse to me, ay thou hast given 
to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd 
lad, who never knew a harsher tone than 
a flute note, muscles of iron and a heart 
of flint; taught him to drive the sword 
through plated mail and links of rug- 
ged brass, and warm it in the marrow 
of his foe; to gaze into the glaring eye- 
balls of the fierce Mumidian lion, even 
as a boy upon a laughing girl; and he 
shall pay thee back, until the yellow 
Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its 
deepest ooze life blood lies curdled! Ye 
stand there now like frowning giants, as 
ye are, the strength of brass is in your 
toughened sinews; but to-morrow, 
some Roman Adonis breathing sweet 
perfume from his curly locks, shall, 
with his lily fingers, pat your red brawn, 
and bet his sesterces upon your blood. 
Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his 
den? Tis three days since he tasted 
flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his 
fast upon yours, and a dainty meal for 
him ye will be. If ye are beasts, then 
stand there like fat oxen, waiting for 
the butcher's knife If ye are men — 
follow me! strike down your guard, 



gain the mountain passes, and there do 
bloody work, as did your sires in old 
Thermop-ylae! Is Sparta dead? Is. 
the old Grecian spirit frozen in your 
veins, that you do crouch and cower 
like a belabored hound beneath his. 
master's lash? O comrads! Warriors!: 
Tharacians! If we must fight, let us 
fight for ourselves! If we must slaugh- 
ter, let us slaughter our oppressors! If 
we must die, let it be under the clear 
sky, by the bright waters, in noble, 
honorable battle! 

E. Kellogg, 



The Survivors of the Battle of Bunker Hill s 

Venerable men, you have come down 
to us from a former generation. Heav-. 
en has bountiously lengthened out your 
lives, that you might behold this joyous, 
day, you are now where you stood fifty- 
years ago, this very hour, with your 
brethren and your neighbors, shoulder 
to shoulder, in the strife of your coun- 
try, 

Behold hew altered! the same heav-. 
ens are, indeed, over your heads; the 
same ocean rolls at your feet; but all 
else, how changed! You hear now no 
roar of hostile cannon; you sec no mix- 
ed volumes of smoke and flame rising- 
from burning Charleston The ground 
strewed with the dead and dying; the 
impetuous charge; the steady and suc- 
cessful repulse; the loud calls to repeat 
assaults; the summoning of all that is 
manly to repeated resistance; a thousand, 
bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in 
an instant to whatever terror there may 
be in war and death — all these j'ou have 
witnessed, but you witness them no. 
more. All is peace, the heights of yon- 
der metropolis, its towers and roofs, 
which you then saw tilled with wives 
and children, and countrymen, in dis- 
tress and terror, and looking with un- 
utterable emotion for the issue of the. 
combat, have presented you to-day with. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



25 



the sight of its whole happy population, 
conic out to welcome and greet you 
with a universal jubilee. Yonder 
proud ships, by a felicity of position ap- 
propriately lying at the foot of this 
mount, and seeming fondly to cling 
around it, are not means of annoyance 
to you, but your country's own means 
of distinction and defense. 

All is peace; and God has granted 
you this sight of your country's happi- 
ness ere you slumber in the grave for- 
ever. He has allowed you to behold 
and partake of your patriotic toils; and 
He has allowed us, your sons and 
countrynam, to meet you here, and, in 
the name of your country, in the name 
of liberty, to thank you. But, alas! 
you aie not all here. Time and the 
sword have thinned your ranks. Pres- 
cott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Reede, 
Pomeroy, Bridge — our eyes seek for you 
in vain amidst this broken band; you 
are gathered to your fathers and live 
only to your country in her grateful 
rememberance, and your own bright 
example. But let us not too much 
grieve that you have met the common 
fate of men; you lived, at least, long, 
enough to know that your work had 
been nobly and successfully accomplish- 
ed. You lived to see your country's in- 
dependence established, and to sheathe 
your swords from war. 

On the light of liberty you saw arise 
the light of peace, and the sky on which 
you closed your eyes was cloudless. 
But — ah!— him! The first great Martyr 
in this great cause! Him, the prema- 
ture victim of his own self-devoted 
heart! Him, the head of our civil coun- 
cils and the destined leader of our mili- 
tary bands; whom nothing brought 
thither but the unquenchable fire of his 
own spirit; him, cut off by providence, 
in the hour of overwhelming anxiety 
and thick gloom; falling, ere he saw 
the star of his country rise; pouring out 
his generous blood, like water, before 
he knew whether it would fertilize a 



land of freedom or of bondage? How 
shall I struggle with the emotions that 
stitle the utterances of thy name; our 
poor work may perish, but thine shall 
endnre! This monument may moulder 
away; the solid ground it rests upon 
may sink down to a level with the sea; 
but thy memory shall not fail! Where- 
soever among men a heart shall be 
found that beats to the transports of 
patriotism and liberty, its aspirations 
shall be to claim kindred with thy 
spirit. 

Daniel Webster. 



The Veteran Soldiers. 

The past as it were, rises before me 
like a dream. Again we are in the 
great struggle for national life. We 
hear the sound of preparations -the 
music of the boisterous drums — the sil- 
ver voices of heroic bugles. We see 
thousands of assemblages aud hear the 
appeals or orators. We see the 
pale cheeks of women and the flushed 
faces of men; and in those assemblages 
we see all the dead whose dust we have 
covered with ilowers. We lose sight of 
them no more. We are with them 
when they enlist in the great army of 
freedom. We see them part with those 
they love. Some are walking for the 
last time in quiet woody places with the 
maidens they adore. We hear the 
whisperings and the sweet vows of eter- 
nal love, as they lingeringly part for- 
ever. Others are bending over cradles, 
kissing babes that are asleep. Some 
are recisving the blessings of old men. 
Some are parting with mothers who 
hold them aud press them to their 
hearts again and again, and say nothing; 
and some are talking with wives, and 
endeavoring with brave words spoken 
in the old tones to drive away the fear- 
ful fear. We see them part. We see 
the wife standing in the door with the 
babe in her arms — standing in the sun- 



20 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



light sobbing— at the turn of the road a 
hand waves — she answers by holding 
high in her loving hands the child. He 
is gone, and forever! 

We see them all as they march proud- 
ly away under the Uauntiug flags, keep- 
ing time to the wild, grand music of 
war — marching down the streets of the 
great cities — through the towns and 
across the prairies— down to the fields 
of glory, to do and to die for the eternal 
right. We go with them, oue and all. 
We are by their side on all the gory 
fields, in all the hospitals of pain, on all 
the weary marches. We stand guard 
with them in the wild storm, and under 
the quiet stars. We are with them in 
ravines running A'ith blood — in the 
furrows of old lields. We are with them 
between contending hosts, unable to 
move, Mild with thirst, the life ebbing 
slowly away among the withered leaves. 
We see them pierced by balls and torn 
with shells in the trenches of forts, and 
in the whirl-wind of the charge, where 
men become iron with nerves of steel. 
We are with them in the prisons of 
hatred and famine, but human speech 
can never tell what they endured. 

We are at home when the news came 
that they were dead. We see the maid- 
en in the shadow of her sorrow. We 
see the silvered head of the old man 
bowed with the last grief. The past 
rises before us, and we see four mil- 
lions of human beings .governed by the 
lash — we see them bound hand and foot 
— we hear the strokes of cruel whips — 
we see the hounds tracking women 
through tangled swamps— we see 
babes sold from the breast of mothers — 
cruelty unspeakable: Outrage infinite! 
Four million bodies in chains — four 
million souls in fetters. All the sacred 
relations of wife, mother, father and 
child, trampled beneath the brutal feet 
of might. And all this under our own 
beautiful banner of the free. 

The past rises before us. We hear 
the roar and shriek of the bursting 



shell. The broken fetters fall, there 
heroes died, we look. Instead of slaves 
we see men, women, and children. 
The wand of progress touches the auc- 
tion-block, the slave-pen, aud the whip- 
ping-post, and we see homes aud fire- 
sides, and school-houses aud books, and 
where all was want aud crime, and 
cruelty, and fear, we see the faces of 
the free. These heroes are dead. They 
died for liberty — they died for us. 
They are at rest. They sleep in the 
land they made free, underthe flag they 
rendered stainless, under the solemn, 
pines, the sad hemlocks, thetearlul wil- 
lows, the embracing vines. They sleep 
beneath the shadows of the clouds, 
careless alike of sunshine or storm, 
each in the windowless palace of rest. 
Earth ma}* run red with other wars — 
they are at peace in the midst of battle, 
in the roar of conflict, the}" found the 
serenity of death . I have one sentiment 
statement for the soldiers, living and 
dead — cheers for the living, and tears 
for the dead. 

Col. K. G. Ingersoll. 



On The Shores of Tennessee. 



"Move my arm-chair faithful Pompey, 

In the sunshine bright and strong. 
For this world is lading, Pompey, 

Massa wont be with you long; 
And I fain would hear the south wind 

Bring once more the sound to me 
Of the wavelets softly breaking 

On the shores of Tennessee. 
o 

Mournful though the ripples murmur, 

As they still the story tell, 
How no vessels float the banner 

That I've loved so long and well. 
I shall listen to their music. 

Dreaming that again I see 
Stars and stripes on sloop and shallop, 

Sailing up the Tennessee. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



27 



'•Ami, Pompey, whih < > 1 < 1 fiiassa's wait- 
ing, 

For death's last despatch to come. 

If thai exiled starry banner 
Should come proud ly sailing home, 

You shall greet it. slave no longer- 
Voice and hand shall both be free 

That shouts and points to Union colors 
On the waves of Tennessee." 

4. 
•Massa's berykiud to Pompey? 

But old darkey's happy here 
Where he's tended corn and cotton 
For dese many a long gone year. 
Over yonder Missis' sleeping — 

No one tends her grave like me; 

Mebbe she would miss the flowers 

She used to love in Tennessee." 



'"'Pears like, she was watching Massa- 

If Pompey should beside him stay, 
Mebbe he'd remember better 

How for him she used to pray; 
"Telling him that 'way up yonder 

White as snow his soul would be, 
If he served the Lord of heaven. 

While he lived in Tennessee. 

6. 

Silently the tears were rolling- 
Down the poor old dusky face, 

As he stepped behind his master, 
In his long accustomed place. 

Then a silence fell around them, 
As they gazed on rock and tree 

Pictured in the placid waters 
Of the rolling Tennessee; — 

Master, dreaming of the battle 

Where he fought by Marion's side, 
Whea he bade the haughty Tarleton 

Stoop his lordly crest of pride; 
ISlan, remembering how yon sleeper 

Once he held upon his knee, 
Ere she loved the gallant soldier 

Ralph Vervair, of Tennessee. 



8. 
Still the south wind fondly lingers 

'Mid the Veteran's silvery hair; 
Still the bondman, close beside him, 

Stands behind the old arm-chair, 
With his dark-hucd hand uplifted, 

Shading eyes, he bends to see 
Where the woodland, boldly jutting, 

Turns aside the Tennessee. 

U. 
Thus he watches cloud-born shadows 

Glide from tree to mountain crest, 
Softly creeping, aye and ever 

To the river's yielding breast. 
Ha! above the foliage yonder, 

Something glitters wild and free! 
Massa! Massa! Hallelujah! 

The flag's come back to Tennessee.'* 

10. 
"Pompey hold me on your shoulder, 

Help me stand on foot once more, 
That I may s-ilute the colors 

As they pass your cabin door. 
Here's the paper signed that free'syou; 

Give a freeman's shout with me, — 
'God and Union!' be our watchword 

Evermore in Tennessee." 

11. 
Then the trembling voice grew fainter, 

And the limbs refused to stand; 
One prayer to Jesus — and the soldier 

Glided to that better land. 
When the flag went down the river, 

Man and master both were free, 
While the ring dove's note was mingled 

With the rippling Tennessee. 

Mrs. Ethel Lynn Beers. 



The Dandy Fifth. 



1, 
'Twas the time of the workinginan's 
great strike, 
When all the land stood still, 
At the sudden roar from hungry mouths 
That labor could not fill; 



28 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



When the thunder of the railroad ceas- 
ed, 

And startled towns could spy, 
A hundred blazing factories 
Painting each midnight sky. 



Thro* Philadelphia's surging streets, 

Marched the brown ranks of toil, 
The grimy legions of the shops, 

The tillers of the soil; 
White-faced militia men looked on 

While women shrank with dread; 
It was muscle against money then,- 

Twas riches against bread. 



Once, as the mighty mob tramped on, 

A carriage stopped the way. 
Upon the silken seat of which 

A young Patrician lay. 
And as with haughty glance he swept 

Along the jeering crowd, 
A white-haired blacksmith in the ranks 

Took off his hat and bowed. 

4. 
That night the Labor League was met, 

And soon the chairman said: 
"There hides a Judus in our midst, 

One man who bows the head, 
Who bends the cowards servile knee, 

When capital rolls by." 
"Down with him! Kill the traitor cur!" 

Rang out the savage cry. 

5. 
Up rose the blacksmith then, 

And held erect his head of gray: 
"I am no traitor tho' I bowed 

To a rich man's son to-day, 

And tho' you kill me as I stand — 
As like you mean to do — 

I wan: to tell a story short, 
And I ask vou'li hear me through. 



I was one of those who enlisted first 

The old flag to defend, 
With Pope and Halleck, Mac, and Grant 

I followed to the end; 
And 'twas somewhere down on the 
Rapid an, 



When the Union cause looked drear, 
That a regiment of rich young bloods 
Came down to us from here. 

"Their uniforms were by tailors cut, 
They brought hampers of good wine. 

And every squad had a servant, too, 

To keep his boots in shine, 
They'd naught to say to us dusty 'vets* 

And throughout the whole brigade, 
We called them the kid glove dandy 5th," 

As M T e passed them on parade. 

8. 
"Well! They were sent to hold a fort„ 

The Rebs tried hard to take, 
"Twas the key of all our line 

Which naught while it held out could 
break. 

But a fearful light we lost just then, 
The reserves came up too late, 

And on that fort and the dandy 5th 
Hung the whole division's fate. 

9. 
Three times we tried to take 

Them aid, and each time back we fell x 
Tho' once we could hear the fort's far 
guns 
Boom like a funeral knell, 
But at length Joe Hooker's core came up 

And then right through we broke. 
How we cheered as we saw those dandy 

coats 
Still back of the drifting smoke. 

10. 
With colors spread, and band in front, 

We marched up the Parapet; 
And the sorrowing sight that met our 
eyes 
I shall never in life forget; 
Three days before had their water gone, 

They had dreaded that the most; 
The next and their last scant ration 
went, 
And each man looked a ghost. 

11. 
As he stood, gaunt-eyed, behind his gun, 

And others were in the corner laid, 
"Grim Sentinels" in gray. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



29 



And the the Colonel,— he could not 
speak, nor stir, 
But we saw his proud eye thrill 
A< he simply glanced at the shot- 
scarred staff, 
Where the "old flag" floated still. 



Now 1 hate the tyrants who grind us 
down 
While the wolfs snarls at our door, 
And the men who've risen from us, that 
laugh 
At the misery of the poor; 
But I tell you, mates, while this weak 
old hand 
I have yet the strength to lift 
It will touch my cap to the proudest 
"swell' 1 
Who fought in the Dandy Fifth. 

Frank II. Cass a way. 



Curfew Must Not Ring To-night. 

MRS. ROSE H. THORPE. 
1. 

England's sun was slowly setting 

O'er the hills so far away, 
Filling all the land with beauty 

At the close of one sad day; 
And the last rays kissed the forehead 

Of a man and maiden fair. 
He with steps so slow and weakened, 

She with sunny, iloating hair; 
He with bowed head sad and thought- 
ful, 

She with lips so cold and white 
•Struggling to keep back the the mur- 
mur. 

"Curfew must not ring to-night." 
o 

^'Sexton,'' Bessie's white lips faltered. 

Pointing to the prison old, 
"With its walls so dark and gloomy, — 

Walls so dark, aud damp, and cold,— 
"I've a lover in that prison 

Doomed this very night to die. 
At the ringing of the Curfew, 

And no earthly help is nigh, 



Cromwell will not come till sunset, 
And her face grew strangely white 

As she spoke in husky whispers. 
"Curfew must not ring to-night." 

:). 
"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — 

Every word pierced her young heart 
Like a thousand gleaming arrows — 

Like a deadly poisoned dart; 
"Long, long years I've rung tin; Curfew 

From that gloomy shadowed tower; 
Every evening, just at sunset. 

It has told the twilight hour; 
I have done my duty ever 

Tried to do it just and right, 
Xow I'm old I will not miss it. 

Girl the Curfew rings to-night. 

4. 
Wild her eyes and pale her features 

Stern and white her thoughtful brow, 
And within her heart's deep center 

Bessie made a solem vow 
She had listened while the Judges read 

Without a tear or sigh 
"At the tinging of the Curfew — 

Basil Underwood must die." 
And her breath came fast and faster, 

And her eyes grew large and bright — 
One low murmur, scarcely spoken — 

"Curfew must not ring to-night!" 

5. 

She with light step bounded forward. 

Sprang within the old church door. 
Left the old man coming slowly, 

Paths he'd trod so oft' before, 
Not one moment paused the maiden 

But with cheek and brow aglow 
Staggered up the gloomy tower. 

Where the bell swung to and fro; 
Then she climbed the slimy ladders, 

Dark, without one ray of light, 
Upward still, her pale lips saying: 

Curfew shall not ring to-night, 

G. 
She has reached the topmost ladder, 

O'er her hangs the great dark bed, 
Ami the awful gloom beneath her, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Like the pathway down to hell; 
Sees the ponderous tongue is swinging, 

'Tis the hour of Curfew now — 
Anil the sight has chilled her bosom 

Stopped her breath, and paled her 
brow, 

Shall she let it ring? No! never! 
Her eyes Hash with sudden light, 

As she springs and grasps it firmly — 
"Curfew shall not ring to-night." 

Out she swung, far out, the city 

Seemed a distant speck below; 
There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspend- 
ed, 

As the bell swung to and fro, 
And the half-deaf sexton ringing; 

(Years he had not heard the bell.) • 
And he thought the twilight Curfew 

Rang young Basil's funeral knell; • 
Still the maiden clinging firmly, 

Cheek and brow so pale and white, 
Still her frightened heart's wild beat- 
ing— 

"Curfew shall not ring to-night." 



Touched his heart with sudden pity, 
Lit his eyes with misty light; 
"Go, your lover lives!" Cried Crom 
well; 
"Curfew shall not ring to-night." 



The Gambler's Wife. 

Dark is the night, how dark! 

No light! No fire! 
Cold on the hearth the last faint sparks.. 
expire, 
Shivering she watches by the cradle- 
side 
For him who pledged his love; last 
year a bride. 

2. 
"Hark! 'tis his footsteps! no! 'tis past t 
'tis gone!" 
Tick! tick! "how wearily the time 
crawls on! 
Why should he leave me thus? he once 
was kind! 
And I believed 'twould last! how mad', 
how blind! 



It was o'er — the bell ceased swaying, 

And the maiden stepped once more 
Firmly on the damp old ladder 

Where for hundred years before 
Human foot had not been planted; 

And what she this night had done, 
Should be told in long years after — 

As the rays of sitting sun 
Light the sky with mellow beauty, 

Aged sires with heads of white 
Tell the children why the Curfew 

Did not ring that one sad night. 

9. 
O'er the distant hills came Cromwell, 

Bessie saw him, and her brow 
Lately white with sickening terror 

Glows with sudden beauty now; 
At his feet she told her story, 

Showed her hands all bruised and 
torn, 
And her sweet young face so haggard, 

With a look so sad aod'worn 



"Rest thee, my babe! rest on! 'tis hun- 
ger's cry! 
Sleep! for there is no food! the font is 
dry! 
Famine and cold their wearying work 
have done, 
My heart must break! and tho !" the- 
clock strikes one. 

4. 
"Hush! 'tis- the dice-box! Yes, he's. 
there, he's there, 
For this! for this he leaves me to de- 
spair! 
Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! his, 
child! for what? 
The wanton's smile — the villain — and, 
the sot! 

5. 
"Yet I'll not curse hi'ml No! 'tis all in 
vain ! 
'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come- 
again! 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



3i 



And I could starve and bless him, but 
for you, 
My child!— his child— O fiend!" The 
clock strikes two. 

(i. 
"Hark! how the sideboard creaks! The 
blast howls by! 
Moan! moan! A dirge swells through 
the cloudy sky! 
Ha! 'tis his knock! becomes! — becomes 
ouce more! 
Tis bub the lattice flaps! Thy hope is 
o'er. 

7. 
"Can he desert mc thus? He knows I 
stay 

Night after night in lonliness to pray 
For his return — and yet he sees no tear! 
No! no! it cannot be. He will be 
here. 



"Nestle more closely, dear one, to my 
heart! 
Thou'rt cold! thou'rt freezing! But 
we will not part. 
Husband! — I die! — Father!— It is not he! 
Oh God! protect my child!" The 
clock strikes three. 



They're gone! they're gone! the glim- 
mering spark hath lied. 
The wife and child are numbered 
with the dead! 
On the cold hearth, out-stretched in 
solemn rest, 
The child lies frozen on its mother's 
breast! 
The gambler came at last — but all was 
o'er — 
Dead silence reigned around — The 
clock struck four! 



The Vagabonds. 
J. 
We are two travelers, Roger and 1, 
Roger's my dog: — come here you 
scamp! 



Jump for the gentleman, mind your eye' 
Over the table,— look out for the 
lamp! — 

The rogue is growing a little old; 

Five years we've tramped through 
wind and weather, 
And slept out doors when nights were 
cold, 
And ate and drank and starved to- 
gether. 



We've learned what comfort is I tell 
you! 
A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin 
A tire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow.) 
The paw he holds up there's been 
frozen. 
Plenty of c;it-gut for my fiddle, 
This out-door business is bad for 
strings, 
Than a few nice buckwheats fresh from 
the griddle, 
And Roger and I set up for Kings. 



No, thank you, sir,— I never drink, 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral, 
Ar'nt we Roger? See him wink!— 
Well, something hot, then, we won't 
quarrel. 
He's thirsty, too,— see him nod his head ! 
What a pity, sir, that dog can't talk; 
He understands every word that's 
said, — 
And he knows good'milk from water 
and chalk. 



The tiuth is, sir, now I reflect, 

I've been so sadly given to grog, 
I wonder I've not lost the respect, 

(Here's to you, sir!) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by, through thick and 
thin; 
And this old coat, with its empty 
pockets, 
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, 
He'll follow while he has eyes in his 
sockets. 






Olmstead's Recitations. 



There isn't another creature living 
would do it. 
And prove through every disaster. 
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving 

To sia-h a miserable, thankless master: 
No, sir:— see him wag his ail and grin: 

By George :it makes ray old eyes water! 
That is, there's something in this gin 

That chokes a fellow. But no matter: 

0. 

We'll have some music, if you're willing, 
And Roger (hem! what a plague a 
cough is sir!) 
Shall march a little. — Start, youvillian! 

Stand straight: 'Bout face: Salute 
your officer: 
Put up that paw: Dress: Take your 
rifle: 
(Some dogshave armsyousee!) Now 
hold your 
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle. 
To aid a poor old patriot soldier'. 



March: Halt: Now show how the 
rebel shakes 
When he stands up to hear his sen- 
tence. 
Now tell us how many drams it takes 
To honor a jollv new acquaint:! nee. 
Five yelps, — that's Ave; he's mighty 
knowing: 
The night's before us, fill the glasses: — 
Quick, sir: Tin ill,— my brain is 
going:— 
Some brandy, — thank you, — there: — 
It passes: 



Why not reform? That's easily said; 
But I've gone through such wretched 
treatment, 
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, 
And scarce remembering what meat 
meant, 
That my poor stomach's past reform: 
And there are times when, mad with 
thinking. 



I'd sell out heaven for something warm 
To prop a horrible inward sinking. 

9. 
Is there a way to forget to think? 

At your age, sir, home, fortune, 
friends, 
A dear girl's love— but I took tod link; — 
The same old story; you know how it 
ends. 
If you could have seen these classic 
features. — 
You needn't laugh, sir. they were not 
then 
Such a burniug libel on God's creatures: 
I was one of your handsome men ! 

10. 

If you had seen her, so fair and young, 
Whose head weshappy on this breast! 
If you could have heard the songs I 
sung 
When the wine went round, yon 
wouldn't have guessed 
That ever I, sir. should be straying 
From door to door, with fiddle and 
dog, 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 
To you to-night for a glass of grog! 

11. 

She's married since, — a parson's wife: 
'Twas better for her that we should 
part, — 
Better the soberest, prosiest life, 
Than a blasted home and a broken 
heart. 
I have seen her — once: I was weak and 
spent 
On the dusty road — a carriage stopped : 
But little she dreamed, as on she went. 
Who kissed the coiu that her fingers 
dropped! 

12. 
You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry. 
It makes me wild to think of the 
change! 
What do you care for a beggar's story? 

1> ir amusing? you find it strange? 
I bad a mother so proud of me! 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



33 



'Twafl well she died before . 

Do you know 
If the happy spirits in heaven can Bee 
The ruin and wretchedness here 

below? 

13. 
Another ghiss, and str . ng, to deaden 

This pain; then Roger and I will start 
I wonder has he such a lumpish leaden 

Aching tiling in place of a heart? 
He is sad sometimes, and would weep 
if he could 
No doubt remembering things that 
were, 
A virtuous kennel with plenty of food, 
And himself a sober respectable cur. 

14. 
I'm better now, that glass was warming, 

You rascal; limber your lazy feet! 
We must be fiddling and preforming 
For supper and bed, or storm in the 
street. 
Not a very gay life to lead, you think? 
Well soon we shall go where lodgings 
are free, 
And the sleepers need neither victuals 
nor drink; 
The sooner the better, for Roger and 
me; 

J. T. Trowbridge. 



Kentucky Belle- 
Summer of sixty-three Sir, and Conrad 

was gone away, 
Gone to the country town sir, to sell 
our first load of hay. 
We lived in the log house yonder, poor 
as ever you've seen, 
Rooschen, there, was a baby, and I 
was only nineteen, 

Conrad he took the oxen but he left 
Kentucky Belle. 
How much we thought of Kentuck, I 
couldn't begin to toll. 
Came from the bine grass country; my 
father gav her to me. 
When I rode north with Conrad away 
from the Tennessee. 



Conrad lived in Ohio— a germ an he Is, 

you know. 
The house, stood in broad cornfields 
stretching on, row after row 
The old folks made me welcome, they 
were kind as kind could be 
But I kept longing, longing for the 
hills of the Tennessee. 

Oh! for a sight of water, the shadowed 
slope of a hill; 
Clouds that hang on the summit, a 
wind that never is still, 
But the level land went stretching away 
to meet the sky; 
Never a rise from north to south, to 
rest the weary eye. 

From east to west, no river to shine out 
under the moon 
Nothing to make a shadow in the 
yellow afternoon, 
Only the breathless sunshine, as I looked 
out all forlorn; 
Only the "rustle, rustle," as I walked 
among the corn. 

When I fell sick with pining, we didn't 
wait any more, 
But moved away from the corn-lands 
out to this river shore. 
The Tuscarauas its called, sir — off there's 
the hill, you see, 
And now I've grown to like it next 
best to the Tennessee 

I was at work that morning, some one 
came riding like mad 
Over the bridge and up the road— 
farmer Roup's little lad, 
Bareback he rode; he had no hat; lie 
hardly stopped to say 
"'Morgan's men are coming Fran; 
they're galloping on this way. 

I'm sent to warn the neighbors, he is'nt 
a mile behind, 
He sweeps up all the horses— every 
horse that he can find. 
Morgan, Morgan the Raider, and Mor- 
gan's terrible men 
With bowie-knives and pistols, are 
galloping up the glen." 



34 



Olmsieads Recitations. 



The lad rode down the valley, and I 

stood still at the door: 
The baby laughed andprattled, pay- 
ing with spools on the floor. 

Keutuek was out in the pasture. Conrad 
ruy man was gone. 
Nearer, nearer Morgan's men were 
galloping galloping on; 
Sudden I pieked up baby, and ran to 
the pasture bar. 
"Ken tuck" I called— "Kentucky ;" she 
knew me ever so far; 
I led her down the gully that turns off 
there to the right. 
And tied her to the bushes; her head 
was just out of sight. 

As I ran back to the log house, at once 
there came a sound. — 
The ring of hoofs, — galloping hoofs, 
— trembling over the ground. 
Coming into the turnpike out from the 
white woman glen — 
Morgan. Morgan trie raider, and Mor- 
gan's terrible men. 

As near they drew, and nearer, 1113* 
heart beat fast in alarm. 
But still I stood iu the doorway with 
baby on my arm; 
They came; they passed; with spur and 
n hip in haste they sped aloug, 
Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his 
band, six-hundred strong. 

Weary they looked, and jaded; riding 
thro' night and thro' day; 
Pushing on east to the river, many 
long miles away; 
To the border strip where Virginia runs 
up into the west, 
And ford the upper Ohio before they 
could stop to rest. 

0~ like the wind they hurried, and Mor- 
gan rode iu advance, 
Bright were his eyes like live coals, as 
he gave me a side way's glance; 
And I was just breathing freely, after 
my choking pain, 
When the last one of the troopers 
suddenly drew his rein. 



—Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce 
dared look in his face; 
As he asked for a drink of water and 
glanced around the place. 
I gave him a cup and he smiled— twas 
only a boy you see. 
Faint and worn, with dim blue eyes; 
and he'il sailed on the Tennessee. 

Only sixteen he was, sir,— a fond moth- 
er's only son. 
Off aud away with Morgan before his 
life had begun. 
The damp drops stood on his temples, 
drawn was the boyish mouth. 
And I thought me of the mother wait- 
ing down in the south. 

Oh: pluck was be to the backbone, and 
clear grit through and through. 
Boasted, and bragged like a trooper, 
but the big words would'nt do; 
The boy was dying.sir, dying as plaiu as 
plain could be. 
Worn out by his ride wilh Morgan, up 
from the Tennessee. 

But when I told the laddie, that I too 
was from the south, 
Water came iu his dim eyes, and 
quivers around his mouth. 
'"Do you know the blue grass country'-" 
he wistful began to say; 
Then swayed like a willow sapling 
and faiuted dead away. 

I had him into the loghouse and worked 
and brought him too, 
I fed him, and coaxed him as I thought 
his moiher'd do; 
And when the lad got better, and the 
noise in his head was gone, 
Morgan's men were miles away, gal- 
loping galloping on. 

"Oh! I must go "he muttered, I must 
be up and away — 
Morgan, Morgan is waiting for me. oh 
what will Morgan sayr 
But I heard a sound of tramping, and 
kept him Lack Irom the door: 
The ringiug sound ot horses hoofs that 
1 had heard before. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



35 



Ami on, on, came the soldiers, the 
Michigan cavalry, 
And last they rode and black they 
looked, galloping rapidly, 

They had followed hard on Morgan's 
track they had followed day and 
night; 
But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders 
they had never caught a sight. 

And rich Ohio sat startled through all 
those summer days; 
For strong wild men were galloping 
over the broad highways. 
Now here, now there, now seen, now 
gone, now north, now east, now 
west 
Thro' river, valleys and cornland 
farms, sweeping away her best 1 

A bold ride and a long ride; but they 
were taken at last. 
They almost reached the river by gal- 
loping hard and fast. 
But the boys in blue were upon them 
ere ever they gained the ford — , 
And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid 
down his terrible sword: 

Well! I kept the boy till evening, kept 
him against his will, 
But he was too weak to follow, and 
sat there pale and still — 
When it was cool and dusky — you'll 
wonder to hear me tell — 
But I stole down to the gully and 
brought up Kentucky Belle* 

I kissed the star on her forehead, my 
pretty gentle lass, 
But 1 knew that she'd be happy, back 
in the old blue grass. 
A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all 
the money I had. 
And Kentucky, pretty Kentuck, I gave 
to the worn out lad. 

I guided him to southward as well as [ 

knew ho w; 
The boy rode off with many tnanks 

aud many a backward bow; 
And then the glow r it faded and my 

heart began to swell, 



A> down the glen away she went my 
lost Kentucky Belle. 

When Conrad came in the evening, the 
moon was shining high; 
Baby and I were both crying, I could- 
n't tell him why — 
But a battered suit of rebel gray was. 
hanging on the wall, 
And a thin old horse with drooping 
head stood in Kentucky's stall. 

Well, he was kind and never said a hard 
word to me; 
He knew 1 couldn't help it— 'twas all 
for the Tennessee. 
But after the war was over, just think 
what came to pass — 
A letter, sir, and the two were safe, 
back in the old blue grass. 

The lad had crossed the Border, riding 
Kentucky Belle, 
Aud Kentuck, she was thriving and 
fat and hearty and well; 
He cared for her, and kept her, nor 
touched her with whip or spur; 
Oh! we've had many horses, but nev- 
er a horse like her. 
Constance Fenimoke Woolston. 



The Polish Boy. 

ANN S. STEPHENS. 

Whence come those shrieks so wild and 
shrill, 

That cut, like blades of steel, the air, 
Causing the creeping blood to chill 

With the sharp cadence of despair? 
Again they come, as if a heart 

Were cleft in twain by one quick 
blow. 
And every string had voice apart 

To utter its peculiar woe. 

Whence came they? from you temple, 

where 
An altar, raised for private prayer, 
Now forms the warriors marble bed 
Who Warsaw's gallant armies led. 
The dim funeral tapers throw 
A holy lustre o'er his brow, 



36 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Ami burnish with their rays of light., 
The mass of curls that gather bright 
Above the haughty brow ami eye 
Of a young boy, that's kneeling by: 

What hand is that, whose icy press 

Clings to the dead with death's own 
grasp, 
But meets no answering caress? 

No thrilling ringers seek its clasp. 
It is the hand of her whose cry 

Rang wildly, late, upon the air, 
When the dead warrior met her eye 

Outstretched upon the altar there. 

With pallid lip and stony brow 
She murmurs forth her anguish now. 
But hark! the tramp of heavy feet 
Is heard along the bloody street; 
Nearer, and nearer yet they come, 
With clanking arms and noiseless 

drum. 
Now whispered curses, low and deep, 
Around the holy temple creep; 
The gate is burst; a ruffian band 
Rush in and savagely demand, 
With brutal voice and oath profane, 
The startled boy for exile's chain. 

The mother sprang with gesture wild, 
And to her bosom clasped her child; 
Then, with pale cheek and flashing eye, 
Shouted with fearful energy, 
"Back, ruffians, back! nor dare to tread 
Too near the body of my dead; 
Nor touch the living boy; I stand 
Between him and your lawless band. 
Take mc, and bind these arms, these 

hands, 
With Russia's heaviest iron bands, 
And drag me to Siberia'-' wild 
To perish, if 'twill save 1113' child!" 

"Peace, woman, peace!" the leader cried, 

Tearing the pale boy from her side. 

And in his ruffian grasp he bore 

His vietim to the temple door. 

"One moment!" shrieked the mother, 

"one! 
Will land or gold redeem my son? 
Take heritage, take name, take all, 
But leave him free from Russian thrall ! 



Take these!" and her white arms and 

hands 
She stripped of rings and diamond 

bauds, 
And tore from braids of long black hair 
The gems that gleamed like starlight 

there; 
Her cross of blazing rubies, last, 
Down at the Russian's feet she cast. 
He stooped to seize the glitteringjstore; — 
Up springing from the marble tloor, 
The mother, with a cry of joy, 
Snateheil to her leaping heart the boy. 
But no! the Russian's iron gra.-.i> 
Again undid the mother's eiasp. 
Forward she fell, with one long cry 
Of more than mortal agony. 

But the brave child is roused at length, 

And, breaking from the Russian's 
hold, 
He stands, a giant in his strength 

Of his young spirit, tierce and bold. 
Proudly he towers; his Hashing eye, 

So blue, and yet i-o bright, 
Seems kiudled from the eternal sky, 

So brilliant is its light. 

His curling lips and crimson cheeks 
Foretell the thought before he speaks; 
With a full voiee of proud command 
He turned upon the wondering band: 
"Ye hold me not! no! no, nor can; 
This hour has made the boy a man; 
I knelt beside my slaughtered sire, 
Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire. 
I wept upon his marble brow. 
Yes wept! I was a child; but now 
My noble mother, on her knee, 
Hath done the work of years for me!" 

He drew aside his broidered vest, 

Aud there, like slumbering serpent's 

crest, 
The jeweled haft of poniard bright 
Glittered a moment on the sight. 
"Ha! start ye back? Fool! coward! 

knave! 
Think ye my noble father's glave 
Would drink the life-blood of a slave? 
The pearls that on the handle flame 
Would blush to rubies in thier shame; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



37 



The blade would quiver in thy breasl 
Ashamed of such ignoble rest. 
No! thus I rend the tyrant's chain, 

And fling him back a hoy's disdain:" 

A moment, and the funeral light 
flashed on the jeweled weapon bright. 

Another, and his young heart's blood 
Leaped to the floor a crimson flood. 
Quick to his mother's side he sprang, 
And on the air his clear voice rang: 
"Up mother, up! I'm free! I'm free! 
The choice was death or slavery. 
Up, mother, up! Look on thy son! 
His freedom is forever won: 
And now. he waits one holy kiss 
To bear his father home in bliss, 
One last embrace, one blessing, — one! 
To prove thou kuowest, approvest thy 

son. 
What! silent yet? Canst thou not feel 
My warm blood o'er thy heart congeal? 
Speak, mother, speak! lift up thy head! 
What ! silent still ? Then art thou dead ! 

Great God, I thank thee! Mother, I 

Rejoice with thee,— and thus— to die." 

One long, deep breath, and his pale 

head 
Lay on his mother's bosom. — dead. 



Shamus O'Brien, the Bold Boy of Glingall 
A Tale of '98. 

BY SAMUEL LOVER. 

Jist afther the war, in the year '98, 

As soon as the boys were all scattered 

and bate, 
Twas the custom, whenever a pisant 

was got, 
To hang him by thrial— barrin' sich as 

was shot. 
There was trial by jury goin' on by day- 

light, 
And the marshal-law hangin' the lavins 

by night, 
It's them was hard times for an honest 

gossoon: 
If he missed in the judges— he'd meet 

a dragoon; 



An' whether the sodgers or judgi 

sentence, 
The divil a much time they allowed lor 

repentence. 

An' it's many the line boy was then mi 

his keepin'. 
Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or 

sleepen', ' 
An' beease they loved Erin, an' scorned 

to sell it, 
A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for 

the bullet — 
Unsheltered by night, and un rested by 

day. 
With the heath for their barrack, re- 
venge for their pay; 
An' the bravest and heartiest boy iv 

them all 
Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town 

iv Glingall. 
His limbs were , well set, an' his body 

was light, 
An' the keen-fauged hound had not 

teeth half so white; 
But his face was as pale as the face of 

the dead. 
Aud his cheek never warmed with the 

blush of the red ; 
But for all that he wans't an ugly 

young bye, 
For the divil himself couldn't blaze 

with his eye, 
So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so 

bright, 
Like a tire-flash that crosses the depth 

of the night! 
An' he was the best mower that ever 

has been, 
An' the illigautest hurler that ever 

was seen. 
An' his dancin' was sich that the men 

used to stare, 
An' the women turn crazy, he done it 

so quare; 
An' by gorra, the whole world gev it 

into him there. 
An' it's he was the boy that was hard 

to be caught, 
An' it's often he run, an' it's often he 

fought, 



38 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Aq' it's many the one can remember As gentle an' soft as the sweet sum- 
right well mer air; 
The squar things he done; an' it's often An' happy remembrances crowding on 
I heerd tell ever, 
How he lathered the yoemeu, himself As fast as the foam-Hakes dhrift down 
agin four, on the river, 
Au' stretched the two strongest on old Bringing fresh to his heart merry days 
Galtimore. long gone by, 
But the fox must sleep sometimes, the Till the tears gathered heavy and 
wild deer must rest thick in his eye. 
An' treachery prey on the blood iv the Bat the tears didn't fall, for the pride 
best; of his heart 
Afther many a brave action of power Would not suffer one drop down his 
and pride, pale cheek to start; 
An' many a hard night on the mountain's An' he sprang to his feet in the dark 
bleak side, prison cave, 
An' a thousand great dangers and An' he swore with the fierceness that 
toils over past, misery gave, 
In the darkness of night he was taken By the hopes of the good, an' the cause 



at last. 

Now, Shamus, look back ou the beauti- 
ful moon, 
For the door of the prison must close 
on you soon, 
An' take your last look at the dim lovely 
light, 
That falls on the mountain and valley 
this night; 
One look at the village, one look at the 



of the brave. 

That when he was mouldering in the 
cold grave 
His enemies never should have it to 
boast 

His scorn of their'vengeance one mo- 
ment was lost; 
His bosom might bleed, but his cheek 
should be dhry. 

For, undaunted he lived, and un- 
daunted he'd die. 



flood, 

An' one at the sheltering, far-distant Well, as soon as a few weeks was over 

wood; and gone. 

Farwell to the forest, farewell to the The terrible day iv the thrial kem on, 



hill, 
An' farewell to the friends that will 
think of you still; 
Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' 
wake, 
And farewell to the girl that would 
die for your sake. 
An' twelve sodgers brought him to 
Marybrough jail; 
An' the turnke}^ resaved him, refusin' 
all bail; 
The fleet limbs wor chained, an' the 
sthrong hands wor bound, 
An' he laid down his length on the 
cowld prison-ground, 
An' the dreams of his childhood kem 
over him there 



There was sich a crowd there was 
scarce room to stand, 
An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons 
sword-in-hand; 
An' the court-house so full that the peo- 
ple were bothered, 
An' attorneys an' criers on the point 
iv bein' smothered; 
An' counsellors almost gev over for 
dead, 
An' the jury sittin' up in their box 
overhead; 
An' the judge settled out so detarmin- 
ed an' big, 
With his gown on his back, and an 
illegent new wig; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



39 



An' silence was called, an' the minute 

it was said 
The court was as still as the heart of 
the dead, 
An' they heard but the open in 1 of one 
prison lock, 
An' Sua Mi's O'BRIEN kern into the 
doek. 
Pol" one minute he turned his eye round 
ou the throng. 
An' he looded at the bars, so firm and 
so strong, 
An' he saw that he had not a hope nor 
a friend, 
A chance to escape, nor a word to de- 
fend; 
An' he folded his arms as he stood there 
alone. 
As calm and as cold as a statue of 
stone; 
And they read a big writin' a yard long 
at least. 
An 1 Jim didn't uuderstaud it, nor 
mind it a taste: 
An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, 
and he says. 
■Aie you gilty or not, Jim O'Brien, 
av you plase?" 

An' a.l held their breath in the silence 
of dhivad, 
An' Shamus O'Brien made answer 
and said : 
"My lord, if you ask me, if in my life- 
time 
I thought any treason, or did any 
crime 
That should call to my cheek, as 1 stand 
alone here, 
The hot blush of shame, or the cold- 
ness of fear, 
Though I stood by the grave to receive 
my death-blow 
Before God and the world I would 
answer \ ou, no! 
But if you would ask me. as I think it 
like, 
If in the rebellion I carried a pike, 
An' fought for mild Ireland from the 
first to the close, 
An' shed the heart's blood of her bit- 
terest foes. 



I answer you, yes, and 1 tell you again; 
Though I stand here to perish, it's my 
glory that then 
In her cause I was willing my veins 
should run dhry, 
An' that now for her sake I am ready 
to die." 

Then the silence was great, and the jury 
smiled bright; 
An' the judge wasn't sorry the job 
was made light; 
By my sowl, it's himself was the crab- 
bed ould chap ! 
In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly 
black cap. 
Then Shamus' mother in the crowd 
standi n' by, 
Called out to the Judge with a pitiful 
cry: 
",0 judge! darlin', don't, O,- don't say 
the word! 
The crathur is 3-oung, have mercy, my 
lord; 
He was foolish, he didn't know what he 
was doiu'; 
You don't know him, my lord — O, 
don't give him to ruin! 
He's the kindliest crathur, the tendher- 
est-hearted; 
Don't part us forever, Ave that's so 
long parted. 
Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, my 
lord, 
An' God will forgive you— O, don't 
say the word!" 
That was the first minute that O'Brien 
was shaken, 
When he saw that he was not quite 
forgot or forsaken; 
An' down his pale cheek, at the words 
of his mother, 
The big tears wor runuin' fast, one 
after th' other; 
An' two or three times he endeavored 
to spak, 
But the stbrong, manly voice to fal- 
ther and break; 
But at last, by the strength of his high- 
mountaiug pride; 
He conquered and masthered his 
grief's swelling tide. 



40 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



'An'," says he, "mother, darlin', dou't Au' old men antTyonng- women eu joy- 
break your poor heart, ing the view. 
For. sooner or later, the dearest must An' ould Tim Mulvany, lie med the 
part; remark, 
And God knows it's betther than The wasn't sieh a sight since the time 
wandering- in fear of Noah's ark, 
On the bleak, trackless mountain, An' be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for 
among the wild deer, divil sich a scruge, 
To die in the grave, where the head, Sich divarshin and crowds, was 



heart, and breast, 
From thought, labor, and sorrow, for- 
ever shall rest. 
Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any 

more, 
Don't make me seem broken, in this, 

my last hour; 
For I wish, when my head's lyin' tin- 

dher the raven, 
No thrue man ean sa} 7 that I died like 

a craven!" 
Then towards the judge Shamus bent 

down his head, 
An' that minute the solemn death- 

sentince was said. 

The mornin' was bright, an' the mists 
rose on high, 



known since the deluge 
For thousands were gathered there, if 
there was one, 
Waitin' till such time as the hangm' 
'id come on, 

At last they threw open the big prison- 
gate, 
An' out came the snerifTs and sodgers 
in state, 
An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus 
was in it, 
Not paler, but prouder than ever, 
that minute. 
An' as soon as the people saw Shamus 
O'Brien, 
Wid prayin' and biessin', and all the 
girls cryin', 



An' the lark whistled merrily in the A wild wailin' sound came on by degrees 



clear sky; 
But why are the men standin' idle so 
late? 
An' why do the crowds gather fast in 
the street? 
What come they to talk of? what come 
they to see? 
An' why does the long rope hang from 
the cross-tree? 
O, Shamus O'Brien! pray fervent and 
fast, 
May the saints take your soul, for 
this day is your last; 
Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the mo- 
ment is nigh, 
When, sthrong. proud, an' great as 
you are, you must die. 
An' fasther an' fasther, the crowd 
gathered there, 
Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just 
like a fair; 
An' whiskey was selling and cussa- 
muck too, 



Like the sound of the lonesome wind 
bio win' through trees. 
On, on to the gallows the sheriff's are 
gone, 
An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadi- 
ly on; 
An' at every side swellin'* around of 
the cart, 
A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open 
your heart. 
Now under the gallows the cart takes 
its stand, 
An' the hangman gets up with the 
rope in his hand; 
An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes 
down on the ground, 
An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last 
look round. 
Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the 
people grew still, 
Young faces turned sickly, and warm 
hearts grew chill; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



4i 



An* the rope bein' ready, his neck was 
ma«1e bare, 
For the grip iv the life-strangling 
chord to prepare; 
An' th<. good priest has left him, flavin' 
said his last prayer, 
But the good priest done more, for 
his hands he unbound, 
And with one daring spring Jim has 
leaped on the ground: 
Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and 
clash goes the sabres; 
He' Dot down! he's alive still! now 
stand to him neighbors 
Through the smoke and the horses 
he's into the crowd, — 
By the heavens, he's free! — than thun- 
der more loud, 
By one shout from the people the 
heavens were shaken — 
One shout that the dead of the world 
might awaken. 
The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs 
ran that, 
An' Father Ma LONE lost his new Sun- 
day hat; 
To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe 
Glin. 
An' the divil's in the dice if you catch 
him ag'in. 
Your swords they may glitter, your 
carbines go bang, 
But if you want hanging it's yourself 
you must hang. 

Well a week after this time without tir- 
ing a cannon, 
A sharp Yankee schooner sailed out 
of the shannon; 
And the captain left word he was going 
to Cork, 
But the divil a bit, he was bound for 
New York. 
The very next spring, a bright morning 
in May, 
Just six months after the great hang- 
in' day, 
A letter was brought to the town of Kil- 
dare, 
An' on the outside was written out- 
fair, 



"To ouhl Mistress O'Brien in Ireland or 
elsewhere," 

An' the inside began: "my dear good 
old mother; 
I'm safe, and I'm happy— and not wish- 
ing to bother, 
You in the realm (wiLhthe help of the 
priest,) 
1 -end you inclosed in this letter at 
least, 
Enough to pay him and fetch you 
away 
To this laud of the free and the brave, 
Merikay. 
Here yov'll be happy and never made 1 
cry in' 
So long as you're mother of SHAMUS 
O'Brien. 
An' give my love to swate Kiddy and 
tell her beware 
Of that spalpun who calls himself Lord 
of Kildare; 
And just tell the judge I don't now 
care a rap 
For him, or his wig, or his dirty black 
cap. 
And now, my good mother, one word 
of advice, 
Fill your bag with potaties, and whis- 
key, and rice, 
And when you lave Ireland take pas- 
sage at Cork, 
And come straight over to the town of 
New York. 
And then ax the mayor the best way 
to go 
To the state of Ciucinnatti, in the town 
of Ohio; 
For 'tis there you'll find me without 
much tryin', 
At the "Harp and the Eagle," kept by 
Shamus O'Brien. 

J. S. LeFann. 



Death Doomed. 
They're taking me to the gallows 
mother, they mean to hang me 
high, 
They're -going to gather 'round me 
there and watch me till I die. 



42 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



All earthly joy has vanished now, and 
gone each mortal hope, 
They'll draw a eap across my eyes 
ami round my neck a rope. 
The crazy mob will shout and groan— 
the priest will read a prayer — 
The drop will fall beneath my feet, 
and leave me in the air. 
They think I murdered Alien Bayne, 
for so the Judge has said 
And they'll hang me to the gallows, 
mother — hang me till I'm dead. 

The grass that grows in yonder mead- 
ow, the lambs that skip and play, 
The pebbled brook behind the or- 
chard, that laughs upon its way, 
The flowers that grow in the dear old 
garden, the birds that sing and fly 
Are clear and pure of human blood, 
and mother so am I. 
By father's grave on yonder hill— his 
name without a staiti, 
T ne'er had malice in my heart, or 
murdered Allen Bayne; 
But twelve good men have fouud me 
guilty, for so the Judge has said, 
And they'll hang me to the gallows, 
mother — haug me till I'm dead. 

The air is fresh and bracing, mothei, 
the sun shines bright aud high, 
[t is a pleasant day to live — ;i glooraj" 
one to die. 
It is a bright and glorious day, aud 
joys of earth to grasp, 
It is a sad and wretched one to 
strangle, choke and gasp; 
But let them damp my lofty spirit, or 
eow me if they can, 
They send me like a rogue to death, 
I'll meet it like a man. 
For I never murdered Allen Bayne, but 
so the Judge has said, 
And th y' 11 hang me to the gallows, 
mother — hang me till I'm dead. 

Poor little sister Bell will weep and 
kiss me as I lie, 
But kiss h-r twice and thrice for me 
and lell her not to cry. 



Tell her to weave a bright, gay gar- 
land, and crown me as of yore, 
Then plant a lily on my grave, and 
think of me no more. 
And tell that maiden whose love I 
sought, that I was faithful yet, 
But I must lie in a felon's grave, and 
she had best forget. 
My memory is stained forever, for so 
the Judge has said, 
Aud they'll hang me to the gallows, 
mother — hang me till I'm dead. 

Lay me not clown by my father's side, 
for once, I mind, he said, 
Ko child that stained his spotless 
name should share his mortal bed. 
Old friends would look beyond his 
grave to my dishonored one, 
And hide the virtues of the sire be- 
hind the recreant son, 
Aud I can fancy, if there m3 r corpse its 
fettered limbs should lay, 
His frowning skull and crumbling 
hones would shrink from me 
away, 
I swear to God I'm innocent, and never 
blood have shed, 
And they'll hang me to the gallows, 
mother — hang me till I'm dead. 

L iy me in my coffin, mother, as you've 
sometimes seen me rest, 
One of ray arms beneath my head, 
the other on my breast. 
Place my Bible upon my heart, nay, 
mother, do not weep, 
And kiss me as in happier days you 
kissed me when asleep; 
And for the form and iole— but little 
do I reck 
But cover up that eur.-ed stain— the 
black mark on my neck, 
And pray God for his great mere}- on 
my devoted head. 
For they'll hang me to the gallows, 
mother — hang me till I'm d<?ad. 

But hark, I hear a mighty murmur 
among the jostling crowd, 
A cry, a shout, a roar of voices, it 
echoes long and loud. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



43 



'There dashes a horseman with foaming 
steed and tightly gathered rein. 
He sits erect, lie waves his hand, 
good Heaven, 'tis Allen Bayne. 
The lost is found, the dead alive, my 
safety is achieved, 
For he waves his hand again and 
shouts, "The prisoner is repriev- 
ed." 
Now, mother, praise the God yon love, 
and raise your drooping head. 
For the murduerons gallows, black 
and grim, is cheated of its dead. 



The Song of Marion's Men. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, 

Our leader frank and bold; 
The British soldier trembles 

When Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good greenwood 

Our tent the cypress tree; 
We know the forest round us, 

As seamen know the sea; 
We know its walls of thorny vines 

Its glades of reedy grass 
Its safe and silent islands 

Within the dark morass. 

Woe to the English soldiery 

That little dread ns near; 
On them shall light at midnight 

A strange and sudden fear. 
When, waking to their t^nts on lire 

They grasp their arms in vain 
And they who stand to face us 

Are beat to earth again; 
And they who fly in terror deem 

A mighty host behind, 
And hear the tramp of thousands 

Upon the hollow wind. 

Then sweet the hour that brings release 

From danger and from toil;. 
We talk the battle over 

And share the battle's spoil. 
The woodland rings with laugh and 
shout 

As if a hunt were up. 
And woodland flowers are gathered 

To crown the soldier's cup. 



With merry song we mock the wind 
That in the pine-top grieves, 

And slumber long and quietly 
On beds of oaken leaves. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon 

The band that Marion leads. 
The glitter of their rifles, 

The scampering of their steeds. 
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 

Across the moonlight plain; 
'Tis life to feel the night- wind 

That lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — 

A moment — and away — 
Back to the pathless forest 

Before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee 

Grave men with hoary hairs; 
Their hearts are all with Marion 

With Marion all their prayers; 
And lovely ladies greet our band 

With kindliest welcoming; 
With smiles like those of summer 

And tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms 

And lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton 

Forever from our shore. 

W. C. Bryant. 



The Smith, of Raganback- 

In a little German village 

On the waters of the Rhine; 
Gay and joyous in their pastime, 

In the pleasant vintage time; 
Were a group of happy peasants, 

For the days released from toil 
Thanking God for all his goodness 

I> the product of their soil; 

When a cry rang thro' the welkin, 

And appeared upon the scene, 
A panting dog with crest erect 

Foaming month and savage mien, 
He is mad was shrieked in chorus 

In dismay they all fell back, 
All — except one towering figure 

Twas the Smith of Kagenback. 



44 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



God had given this man his image 

Nature stamped him as complete. 
Now it was incumbent on him 

To perform a greater feat 
Than Horatious at the bridge; 

When he stood on Tiber's bank 
For behind him were his Townsfolk, 

Who, appalled with terror, sank. 

From the most appalling danger, 

That which makes the bravest quail; 
While the\- all were grouped together 

Shaking limbs and visage pale. 
For a moment cowered the beast, 

Snapping to the left and right, 
While the blacksmith stood before him 

In the power of his might. 

"One must die to save the many, 

Let it then my duty be 
I've the power fear not neighbors 

From this peril you'll be free." 
As the lightning from the storm cloud 

Leaps to earth with sudden crash, 
So upon the rabid monster 

Did this man and hero dash. 

In the death grip then they struggled 

Man and dog with scarce a sound, 
'Till from out the fearful conflict 

Rose the man from off the ground: 
Gashed and gory from the strugg.e 

But the beast lay stiff and dead; 
There he stood while people gathered 

And rained blessings on his head. 

"Friends" he said"from one great peril 

With Gods help I've set you free, 
But my task is not yet ended 

There is danger now in me. 
Yet secure from harm you shall be 

None need fear before I die; 
That my sufferings may be shortened 

Ask of him who rules on high." • 

Then into his forge he straightway 

Walked erect with rapid step, 
While the people followed after 

Some with shouts, while others wept; 
And with nerve as steady as when 

He had plied his trade for gain, 
He selected without faltering 

From his store, the heaviest chain. 



To his anvil first he bound it, 

Next his limb he shackeled fast. 
Then he said unto his townsfolk 

"All your danger now is past, 
Place within my reach I pray you 

Food and water for a time; 
Until God shall ease my suffering, • 

By his gracious will divine." 
Long he suffered but at last 

Came a summons from on high, 
Then his soul with angel escort. 

Sought its home beyond the sky; 
And the people of that village 

Those whom he had died to save 
Still with grateful hearts assemble 

And with flowers bedeck his grave 
Frank Murray. 



One in Blue and One in Gray. 

Each thin hand resting on a grave, 

Her lips apart in prayer, 
A mother knelt, and left her tears 

Upon the violets there. 
O'er many a road of vale and lawn, 

Of hill and forest gloom, 
The Reaper death had reveled in 

His fearful harvest home. 
The last red summer sun had shone 

Upon a fruitless fray; — 
From yonder forest charged the blue 

Down yonder slope the gray. 

The hush of death was on the scene 

And sunset o'er the dead, 
In that oppressive stillness 

A pall of glory spread. 
I know not, dare not question how 

I met the ghastty glare 
Of each upturned and stirless face, 

That shrunk and whitened there. 
I knew my noble boy's had stood 

Through all that withering day, — 
I knew that Willie wore the blue, 

That Harry wore the gray. 

I thought of Willie's clear blue eyes,. 

His wavy hair of gold, 
That clustered on a fearless brow 

Of purest saxon mold ; 
Of Harry, frith his raven locks, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



45 



And eagle glance of pride, 
Of now they clasped each others hand 

And left t heir mother's side; 
How hand in hand they bore my piayers 

Ami blessings on the way — 
A noble heart beneath the blue 

Another Death the gray. 

The dead, with white and folded hands, 

That hushed our village homes. 
I've seen laid calmly, tenderly, 

Within their darkened rooms. 
But there I saw distorted limbs. 

And many an eye aglare. 
In the soft purple twilight of 

The thunder smitten air; 
Along the slope and on the sword 

In ghastly ranks they lay; 
-And there was blood upon the bine 

And blood upon the gray. 

I looked and saw his blood, aud his: 

A swift and vivid stream 
Of years flashed o'er me when 

Like some cold shadow, came 
A blindness of the eye and brain. 

The same that seizes one 
When men are smitten suddenly 

Who overstare the sun; 
And while blurred with the sudden 
stroke 

That swept my soul, I lay; 
They buried Willie in his blue, 

And Harry in his gray. 

The shadows fall upon their graves; 

They fall upon my heart; 
And thro' the twilight of my sonl 

Like dew the tears will start. 
The starlight comes so silently, 

And lingers where they rest; 
So hopes revealing starlight sinks 

And shines within my breast. 
The}" ask not there where yonder heaven 

Smiles with eternal day 
Why Willie wore the loyal blue — 

Why Harry wore the gray. 

Axon. 



Kate Shelley. 
Have you heard how a girl saved the 
lightning expr 



Of Kate Shelley, whose father was 

killed on the road? 
Were he living to-day, he'd be proud to 

possess 
Such a daughter as Kate; oh: 'twas 

grit that she showed, 
On the terrible evening when Donohue's 

train 
Jumped the bridge and went down in 

theJarknes and rain. 

She was only eighteen, but a woman in 
size, 
With a figure as graceful and lithe as 
a doe; 
With peach-blossoms cheeks, and with 
violet eyes, 
And teeth and complexion like new 
fallen snow; 
With a nature unspoiled and unblem 
ished by art. 
With a generous soul, and a warm, 
nobie heart. 

'Tis evening— the darkness is dense and 
profound; 
Men linger at home by their bright 
blazing tires; 
The wind wildly howls with a terrible 
sound, 
And shrieks through the vibrating 
telegraph wires 
The tierce lightning flashes along the 
dark sky, 
The rain falls in torrents; the river 
lolls by. 

The scream of a whistle! the rush of a 
train; 
The sound of a bell! a mysterious 
light 
That flashes and flares thro' the fast fall- 
ing rain. 
A rumble! a roar! shrieks of human 
affright! 
The falling of timbers; the space of a 
breath! 
A splash iu the .river; then il irk Lass 
and death. 

Kate Shelley recoils at the terrible 
erashl 



4 6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The sounds of distraction she happens 

to hear; 
She springs to the window, she throws 

up the sash 
And listens and looks with a feeling 

of fear. 
The tall tree tops groan and she hears 

the faint cry 
Of a drowning man down in the river 

near by. 

Her heart feebly flutters her features 
grow wan 
And then thro' her soul in a moment 
there flies, 
A forethought that gives her the strength 
of a man. 
She turns to her trembling old mother 
and eries 
"I must save the express — 'twill be here 
in an hour." 
Then out thro' the door disappears in 
the showei. 

She flies down the track thro' the piti- 
less rain, 
She reaches the ruins — the water 
below. 
Whirls and seethes thro' the timbers, 
she shudders again 
4 'The bridge! to Moingona, God help 
me to go," 
Then closely about her she gathers her 
gown 
And on the wet tics with a shiver 
sinks down. 

Then carefully over the timbers she 
creeps 
On her hands aud her knees, almost 
holding her breath. 
The loud thunder peals and the wind 
wildly sweeps 
And struggles to hurry her down- 
ward to death; 
But the thought of the train to distrac- 
tion so near 
Removes from her soul every feeliug 
of fear. 



With the blood dripping down from 
each torn bleeding limb, 
Slowly over the timbers her dark way 
she feels. 
Her fingers grow numb, and her head 
seems to swim — , 
Her strength is fast failing — she 
staggers! she reels; 
She falls — ah! the danger is over at last 
Her feet touch the earth, and the long 
bridge is passed! 

In an instant new life seems to come to 
her form 
She springs to her feet aud forgets, 
her despair. 
On, on to Moingona. she faces the 
storm 
She reaches the station— the keeper 
is there. 
"Save the lightning express! no— hang 
out the red light! 
There's death on the bridge at the 
river to-night;" 
Out flashes the signal light, rosy and 
red; 
Then sounds the loud roar of the 
swift coming train, 
The hissing of steam, and there bright- 
ly ahead 
The gleam of the headlight illumines 
the rain. 
"Down breaks!" shrieks the whistle 
defiant and shrill; 
She heeds the redsigual — she slackens, 
she's still! 

Ah! noble Kate Shelley your mission is 
done; 
Your deed that dark night will not 
fade from our gaze; 
An endless renown )ou have worthily 
won: 
Let the nation be just, and accord 
you its praise. 
Let your name, let your fame, aud your 
courage declare 
What a woman can do, and a woman 
can dare; 

Eugene J. Hall. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



47 



Flying Jims Last Leap. 

Cheeriest room that mora, the k itchen. 

Helped by Bridget's willing hands, 
Bustled Hacnah deftly mixing pies for 
ready waiting pans. 
Little Flossie flitted round them, and 
and her curling floating hair 
Glinted gold like, gleamed and glisten- 
ed in the sparkling sunlit air; 
Slouched a figure o'er the lawn: a 
man so wretched and forlorn, 
Tattered, grim, so like a beggar ne'er 
had trod that path before. 
His shirt was torn, his hat was gone, 
bare and begrimed his knees, 
Face with blood and dirt disfigured, el- 
bows peeped from out his sleeves. 
Rat-tat-tat. upon the en trance, brought 
Aunt Hannah to the door; 
Parched lips humbly plead for water. 
as she scanned his misery o'er; 
Wrathful came the dame's quick 
answer: made him cower, shame, 
and start 

Out of sight, despairing, saddened, 
hurt and angry to the heart. 
"Drink! You've had enough you ras- 
cal! Fough! The smell now makes 
me sick. 

Move, you thief! leave now these 
grounds sir, or our dogs will help 
you quick." 
Then the man with dragging footsteps 
hopeless wishing himself dead, 

Crept away from sight of plenty, starved 
in place of being fed. 
Wandered farther from the mansion, 
till he reached a purling brook, 

Babbling, trilling broken music by a 
green and shady nook, 
Here sweet Flossie found him fainting; 
In her hands were food and drink; 

Pale as death lay he before her, yet the 
childs heart did not shrink; 
Then the rags from off his forehead 
she with dainty hands oifatripped; 

In the brooklet's rippling waters her 
own lace-trimmed 'kerchief dip- 
ped; 



Then with sweet and holy pity, which, 
within her, did not daunt, 
Bathed the blood and grim stained 
visage of that sin-soiied son of 
want. 
Wrung she then the linen cleanly, 
bandaged up the wound again. 
E'er the still eyes opened slowly: white 
lips murmuring, "Am I sane?" 
"Look, poor man, here's food and 
drink. Now thank our God be- 
fore you take," 
Paused she, mute and undecided, while 
deep sobs his form did shake 
W T ith an avalanche of feeling, and 
great tears came rolling down 
O'er a face unused to showing aught 
except a sullen frown: 
That "Our God" unsealed a fountain 
his whole life had never known. 
When that human angel near him spoke 
of her God his own. 
"Is it 'cause my auntie grieved you?" 
quickly did the wee one ask. 
"I'll tell you my little verse' then,— 'tis 
a Holy Bible task, — 
It may help you to forgive her: 
Love your enemies and those 
Who despitefully may use you: love 
them whether friends or foes!" 
Then she glided from his vision, left 
him prostrate on the ground 
Coning o'er and o'er that lesson with a 
grace to him new found. 
Sunlight filtering through green 
branches as they wind-wave dance 
and dip, 
Finds a prayer his mother taught him, 
trembling on his crime stained lip. 
Hist! a step, an angry mutter, and the 
owner of the place 
Gentle Flossie's haughty father and the 
tramp stood face to lace! 
"Thieving rascal! you've my daughter's 
'kerchief bound upon your brow; 
Off with it, anil cast it down here. 
Come! be quick about it now." 
As the man did not obey him, Flos- 
sies' father lashed his check 






Olmstead's Recitations. 



With a riding-whip lie carried; struck 

him hard and cut him deep. 
Quick the tram}) bore down upon 

him, felled him, o'er him where 

he lay 
liaised a knife to seek his life blood. 

Then there cnme a thought to stay 
All his angry, murderous impulse, 

caused the knife to shuddering 

fall; 

"He's her father; love your enemies. 

'tis our God reigns over all." 
At midnight, lamburt, lurid, flames 

light up the sky with fiercest 

flames, 
Wild cries, "Fire! fire!" ring through 

the air, and red like blood each 

flame now seems. 
They faster grow, they higher throw 

wierd direful arms which ever 

lean 
About the gray-stone mansion old. 

Now roars the wind to aid the 

scene; 
The flames yet. higher, wilder play. 

A shudder runs through all around 
Distinctly as in light of day, at topmost 

window from the ground 
Sweet Flossie stands, her golden hair 

enhaloed now by fire lit air, 
Loud rang the father's cry: "O God! my 

child! my child! will no one dare 
For her sweet sake the flaming stair? 

"Look! one steps forth with 

mu filed face. 
Leaps through the flames with fleetest 

feet, on trembling ladder rims a 

race 
With life and death— the window 

gains. Deep silenoe falls on all 

around 
Till burst aloud a sobbing wail. The 

ladder falls with crashing sound. 

A flaming, treacherous mass. O God! 
Look once again. See! on highest 
roof he stand — the fiery wave 

Fierce rolling sound — his arms en- 
clasp the child God help him yet 
to - 



"For life or for eternal sleep." 
He cries, then makes "a vaulting leap. 
A tree branch he catches, with sure aim. 
And by the act proclaimed his name; 
The air was rent, the cheers rang loud, 
A rough voice cried from out the crowd 
"Huzza, my boys, well we know him, 
None dares that leap but Flying Jim!" 
The king of gymuasts— poor indeed, 
Yet o'er them all takes kingly lead. 
"Do now your worst;" his gasping cry, 
"Do all your worst, I'm doomed to die; 
I've breathed the flames, 'twill not be 

long." 
Then hushed the murmurs through the 

throng. 
With reverent hands they bore him 

where 
The summer evening's cooling air 
Came softly, sighing through the trees; 
The child's proud father, on his knees 
Forgiveness sought of God and Jim, 
Which dying lips accorded him. 
A mark of whip on white face stirred 
To gleaming scarlet at the words: 
'•Forgive them all who use you ill, 
She taught me that and I fulfill; 
I would her hand might touch my face, 
Though she's so pure and I so base." 
Low Flossie bent and kissed the brow, 
With smile of bliss transfigured now; 
Death the angel, sealed it there. 
'Twas sent to Gad with a mother's 

prayer." 



Custer's Last Charge. 

[At the unvailiBg of the Custer monument at 
West Point Mr. JohnMcCullough. the distingu- 
ished tragedian, read the following poem with 
thrilling power and efi-r 

On through the mist of the morning. 

On through the blinding glare; 
A hard, rough ride by the Rosebud's 

side. 
Cutting swathes through the sultry 

air; 
With tightened girths and with bridles 

tree. 
Their sabers clattering at the knee; 
Pistol and carbine ready at hand, 



Olmstead's Recitations 



49 



Ami one brave heart in the wide com- 
mand, 

ftode the sun-browned troopers till eve 
grew red — 

Rode Custer right at the column's head. 

"Shall rest tonight; by to-morrows sun 

We'll strike the red man's trail. 
But an hour to breathe till the light is 

won, 
Till the bright redeeming deed is done; 

Til) the climax caps the tale." 
A wild, lierce light's in the hero's eyes, 

For a storm is in his soul. 
Bitter and sweet in the charged, clouds 
meet. 
And the soul's low thunders roll; 
And they roll and repeat as the stars 
come out: 
And the troopers spring to their sad- 
dles once more. 

"Ou by the stars, scan well the trail, 

And miss not an Indian sign." 
For the dawn is gray and the stars are 
pale, 
And hope is high 011 the widened 
line — 
The hope, half joy, of the soldier's 
trust, 
That wants not trump or drum. 
"Scatter out, my lads, so the heavy 
dust 
Shall not tell the Sioux we come." 
And the chieftain rode by his brother's 
twain, 
And his sister's husband was at his 
side, 
And his sister's son drew an easy rein 
At his heels, as they faced the high 
divide. 

Again the dark hills around them rise, 

And the cloud of dust beyond 
Brings the coming tight 'fore the troop- 
er's eyes 

f^ike the wave of a wizard's wand; 
And Custer, still at the column's head. 

Spurs on, that none may share 
The first glance down the river's bed — 

The game he's hunted there. 



"Cross you the river; ride them down; 
God! how the prancing devils swarm! 
The squaws shall wail 
Through the mile-wide vale 
When sweep we down it like a storm. 
I with three hundred sabers bright 

Shall meet you on your way. 
Forward!" Their blades like sudden 
light 
Leap out, and carbines cocked, in 

hand, 
Flash glinting 'long the brave com- 
mand, 
And on behind the bluffs they speed 
With thundering hoofs to do the 

deed 
Shall bring them higher soldier's 
meed 
Than ever fell to warrior band. 

Rough and steep till they reach the 
crest, 
Rough and jagged when on the hill; 
Press on, the swiftest now the best, 
Here Fame shall drink till she drinks 
her fill. 

Over the mile-wide valley lowered the 
cloud of fate. 
Not the bitter wrong, 
Not the brave heart strong, 
Not the wrath of the mighty cher- 
ished long, 
Or wild hope elate, 
Could rob one gloom from the cloud 

that hung 
Over the bold and over the young, 
To be their shroud in the name of hate. 

On through the smoke of battle. 

Dimming the blinding glare, 
A headlong ride from the riverside, 
Cutting swathes through the red men 
there; 
Cutting swathes, but the troopers aie 
falling — 
Falling fast, while the swarming foe 
From the earth and hills seem to 
grow, 
And the roar of their riffes appalling- 
Rolls out in a long thunder rattle. 



5Q 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



See! Castor has swerved from the river. 
"Fire: Make for the hill! We'll have 

Reno soon here." 
His voice, like a clear trumpet sound, 

without quiver, 
Is heard by the remnant un fallen. A 

cheer 
Is their answer, but leaving their cover, 
Fresh swarms of the Sioux ride down 

on the band. 

On the grim wild ride from the river 
Three huudred had shrunk to a score; 
Their track *vas of heroes gore, 
And heroes corpses that went to rest 
With spoutiug wounds in the head and 

breast. 
And with savage foes in their death em- 
brace — 
The brave and braves dying face to face. 

Brothers and kinsmen have fallen! 

Doomed Custer stands all but alone, 
A rampart of dead men around him. 

His last cry his rifle's deep tone! 

On through the smoke of battle, 

With maddening cries on the air, 
The wild Sioux rushed from the river, 

Like wolves on a man in their lair. 
Like wolves, and trusting to numbers, 
They sweep on the desperate few, 
Who each bade a stern adieu 
To the tried and trusted aud true. 
Then died as they stood, ere the on- 
coming yell 
Of the savages lifted its chorus from 

hell. 
Ere their horses' hoofs trampled the 

ramparts dread, 
The last of the whole command lay 

dead — 
A sight for the world in pride to scan; 
W^hile valor and duty led the van, 
They charged, they struggled, they died 
to a man. 

But fame will never forget that ride, 
The wild, mad dash to the river-side, 
Where trooper and horse in red death 

allied, 
Near the monument rocks and the 

bloody tide, 
Where glorious Custer fearlessly died. 



The Kaiserblumen. 
Have you heard of the Kaiserblumen, 

little children sweet, 

That grows in the iields of Germany, 
Light waving among the wheat? 

'Tis only a simple flower, 

But were I to try all day, 
Its grace and charm and beauty 

1 couldn't begin to say. 

By field and wood and roadside, 

Delicate, hardy and bold. 
It blossoms in wild profusion 

In every color but gold. 

The children love it dearly 
And with dancing feet they go 

To seek it with song and laughter; 
And all the people know 

That the Emperor's daughter loved it 

Like any peasant maid; 
And when she died, her father, 

Stern Kaiser Wilhelm, said: 

"This flower my darling, cherished, 
Honored and crowned shall be; 

Henceforth 'tis the Kaiserblumen. 
The flower of Germany." 

Then he bade his soldiers wear it, 

Tied in a gay cockade, 
And the quaint and humble blossom 

His royal toren made. 

Said little Hans to Gretchen, 

One summer morning fair, 
As they played in the iields together, 

And sang in the open air; 

"O look at the Kaiserblumen 
That grows in the grass. so thick! 

Let's gather an arm full, Gretchen, 
And take to the Emperor, quick! 

"For never were any so beautiful, 
So blue and so white aud red!" 

So all they could carry they gathered, 
And thought of the prineess dead.' 

Then under the. blazing sunshine 

They truged o'er the long white react 

That led to the Kaiser's palace 
With their brightly-nodding load. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



5l 



But long ere the streets of the city 
They trod with their little feet, 

As hot they grew and as tired 
As their corn -flowers bright and 
sweet. 

And Gretchen's checks were rosy, 

With a weary travel stain, 
And her tangled hair o'er her blue, blue 
eyes, 

Fell down in a golden rain. 

And at last all the nodding blossoms 
Their shining heads hung down — 

But, "Cheer up, Gretchen!" cried little 
Hans, 
"We've almost reached the town! 

"We'll knock at the door of the palace, 

And won't he be glad to see 
All the princess's flowers we've brought 
him! 
Think, Gretchen, how pleased he'll 
be!" 

So they plodded patiently onward, 
And with hands so soft and small 

They knocked at the palace portal, 
And sweetly did cry and call: 

"Please open the door, O Kaiser! 

We've brought some flowers for you, 
Our arms full of Kaiserblumen, 

All rosy and white and blue!" 

But nobody heeded or answered, 

'Til, at last a soldier grand 
Bade the weary wanderers leave the 
gate, 

W T ith a gruff and stern com nand. 

But "No!" cried the children, weeping; 

Though trembling and sore afraid, 
And clasping their faded flowers, 

"We must come in!" they said. 

A lofty and splendid presence 
The echoing stair came down; 

To kuow the king there was no need 
That he should wear a crown. 

And the cnildren cried: "O Kaiser, 
We have brought you flowers so far! 

And we are so tired and hungry! 
See, Emperor, here they are!" 



They held up their withered poeii 

While into the Emperor's face 
A beautiful light came stealing, 

And he stooped with a stately grace: 

Taking the ruined blossoms, 
With gentle words and mild 

He comforted with kindness 
The heart of each trembling child. 

And that was a wonderful glory 

That Jittle ones befell! 
And when their heads are hoary, 

They still will the story tell — 

How they sat at the Kaiser's table, 
And dined with princes and kings.. 

In that far-off day of splendor 
Filled full of marvelous things! 

And home when the sun was setting,. 

The happy twain were sent, 
In a gleaming golden carriage 

With horses magnificent. 

And like the wildest vision 

Of Fairy-land it seemed; 
Hardly could Hans and Gretchen 

Believe they had not dreamed. 

And even their children's children 

Eager to hear will be, 
How they carried to Kaiser Willielm- 
The flowers of Germany. 

Celia Thaxter, 
In St. Mchvlax- 



Custer's Last Charge. 
Frederick Whittaker. 
Dead! Is it possible? He, the bold' 
rider, 
Custer, our hero, the first in the light,. 
Charming the bullets of yore to fly 
wider, 
Shunning our battle-king's ringlets ot" 
light ! 
Dead! our young chieftain, and dead all. 
forsaken! 
No one to tell us the way of his fall! 
Slain i;i the desert, and never to waken,. 
Never, not even to victory's call? 

Comrades, he's gone; but ye need uoU 
be grieving; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



No, may my death be like his when I 
die! 
No regrets wasted on words I am leav- 
ing, 
Palling with brave men, and faee to 
the sky. 
Death's but a journey, the greatest must 
take it: 
Fame is eternal, and better than all; 
Gold though the bowl be, 'tis fate that 
must break it, 
Glory can hallow the fragments that 
fall. 

Proud for his fame that last day that he 
met them ! 
All the night long he had been on 
their track, 
Scorning their traps and the men that 
had set them, 
Wild for a charge that should never 
give back. 
There on the hill-top he halted and saw 
them, — 
Lodges all loosened and ready to fly; 
Hurrying scouts with the tidings to awe 
them, 
Told of his coming before he was 
nigh. 

All the wide valley was full of their 
forces, 

Gathered to cover the lodges' retreat, 
Warriors running in haste to their 
horses, 
Thousands of enemies close to his feet! 
Down in the valleys the ages had hol- 
lowed, 
There lay the Sitting Bull's camp for 
a prey ! 
Numbers! What recked he? What 
recked those who followed? 
Men who had fought ten to one ere 
that day? 

Out swept the squadrons, the fated three 
hundred, 
Into the battle-line steady and full; 
Then down the hill-side exultingly 
thundered 
Into the hordes of the Old Sitting 
Bull! 



Wild Ogalallah, Arapahoe, Cheyenne, 
Wild Horse's braves, and the rest of 
their crew, 
Shrank from that charge like a herd 
from a lion, 
Then closed around the great hell of 
wild Sioux. 

Right to their center he charged, and 
then, facing — 
Hark to those yells? and around them, 
oh, see! 
Over the hill-tops the devils came rac- 
ing, 
Coming as fast as the waves of the 
sea! 
Red was the circle of lire about them: 
No hope of \ietory, no ray of light, 
Shot through the terrible black cloud 
without them. 
Brooding in death over Custer's last 
tight, 

Then, did he blench? Did he die like 
a craven, 
Begging those torturing fiends for his 
life? 
Was there a soldier who carried the 
Seven 
Flinched like a coward or fled from 
the strife? 
No, by the blood of our Custer, no 
quailing! 
There in the midst of the devils they 
close, 
Rang out his words of encouragement 
glowing, 
"We can but die once, boys, sell 

YOUR LIVES DEAR! 

Dearly they sold them, like Berserkers 
raging, 
Facing the death that encircled them 
round; 
Death's bitter pangs bv their vengeance 
assuaging, 
Marking their tracks by their dead 
on the ground. 
Comrades, our children shall yet tell 
their story' — 
Custer's last charge on the Old Sitting 
Bull; 



Oi.mstead's Recitations. 



53 



And ages shall swear that the cup of his 
glory 
Needed but that death to render it 
full. 



William Tell- 
"Place there the boy,' 1 the tyrant said: 
"Fix me the apple on his head. 

Ha! rebel, now! 
There's a fair mark for your shaft: 
To yonder shining apple waft 
An arrow." And the tyrant laughed. 

With quiring brow 
Bold Tell looked there; his cheek turn- 
ed pale, 
His proud lips throbbed as if would fail 

Their quivering breath. 
"Ha! doth he blanch?" fierce Gesler 

cried, 
"I've conquered, slave, thy soul of 

pride." 
No voice to that stern taunt replied — 

All mute as death. 
"And what the meed?" at length Tell 

asked. 
"Bold fool, when slaves like 1hee are 
tasked, 
It is my will. 
But that thine eye may keener be, 
And nerved to such nice archery, 
If thou cleav'st yon, thou goest free. 

What! pause you still? 
Give him a bow and arrow there — 
One shaft — but one." Gleams of des- 
pair 
Rush for a moment o'er the Switzer's 

face; 
Then passed away each stormy trace, 
And high resolve came in their place. 

Unmoved, yet flushed, 
"I take thy terms," he muttered low, 
Grasped eagerly the proffered bow. 

The quiver searched, 
Sought out an arrow keen and long, 
Fit for a sinewy arm, and strong. 
And placed it on the sounding thong 

The touch yew arched. 
He drew the bow, whilst all around 
That thronging crowd there was no 
sound, 



No step, no wold, no breath. 
All gazed with an unerring eye. 
To see the fearful arrow fly; 
The light wind died into a sigh, 

And scarcely Stirred. 
Afar the boy stood, linn and mute; 
He saw the strong bow curved to shoot, 

But never moved. 
He knew the daring coolness of that 

hand, 
lie knew it was a father scanned 

The boy he loved. 
The^witzer gazed— the arrow hung, 
"My only boy!" sobbed on his tongue; 

He could not shoot. 
"Ha!" cryed the tyrant, "doth he quail? 
.Mark how his haughty brow grows 

pale!" 
But a deep voice rung on the gale — 

"shoot, in God's name!" 
Again the drooping shaft he took, 
And turned to heaven one burning 
look, 

Of all doubt reft. 
"Be firm my boy," Avas all he said. 
The apple's left the strippling's head; 

Ha! ha! 'tis cleft! 
And so it was, and Tell was free. 
Quick the brave boy was at his knee. 

With rosy cheek. 
His loving arms his boy embrace; 
But again the tyrant cried in hastp, 
"An arrow in thy belt is placed; 

What means it? Speak!" 
The Switzer raised his clenched hand 

high, 
Whilst lightning flashed across his eve 

Incessantly, 
"To smite thee, tyrant, to the heart, 
Had heaven willed it that my dart 

Had touched my boy." 
"Rebellion! treason! chain the slave!" 
A hundred swords around him wave. 
Whilst hate to Gesler's features gave 

Infuriate joy. 
But that one arrow found its goal. 
Hid with revenge in Gesler's soul; 

And Lucerne's lake 
Heaid his dastard soul outmoan 
When Freedom's call abroad was blown, 



54 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Ami Switzerland, a giant grown, 

Her fetters brake. 
From hill to hill the mandate flew 
From lake to lake the tempest grew, 

With wakening swell, 
Till proud oppression crouched for 

shame, 
And Austria's haughtiness grew tame; 
And Freedom's watchword was the 
name 

Of William Tell. 



The Minuet. • 

•Grandma told me all about it. 

Told me so I could not doubt it, 
How she danced, my grandma,long ago! 

How she held her pretty head, 
How her dainty skirts she spread, 

How she turned her little toes, 
Smiling little human Rose, long ago. 

Grandma's hair was bright and shining. 
Dimpled cheeks too; ah! how funny! 

Bless me, now she wears a cap, 

My grandma does and takes a nap 
every single day; 

Yet she danced the minuet long a go; 

Now she sits there rocking, rocking 
Always knitting grandpa's stockings. 

Every girl was taught to knit, long ago. 
But her figure is so neat, 

And her ways so staid and sweet, 
I can almost see her now, 

Bending to her partner's bow, long ago. 

"Grandma says our modern jumping, 
Rushing, whirling, dashing, bumping, 

Would have shocked the gentle people, 
long ago. 
No! the} T moved with stately grace 

Everything in proper place, 
Gliding slowly forward, then 

Slowly courtesying back again, long ago. 

Modern ways are quite alarming, 
grandma says. 
But boys were charming — 
Girls and boys I mean of course, long 
ago. 
Sweetly modest, bravely shy! 
What if all of us should try 



Just to feel like those who met 
In the stately Minuet, long ago. 

With the Minuet in fashion 

Who could fly into a passion? 
All would wear the calm they wore 
long ago. 
And if in years to come, perchance 
I tell my grandchild of our dance 

I should really like to say, 
We did it in some such way, long ago, 
long ago. 

"Rock of Ages." 

"Rock of ages, cleft for me," 
• Thoughtlessly the maiden sung; 
Fell the words unconsciously 

From her girlish, gleeful tongue; 
Sang as little children sing; 

Sang as sing the birds in June; 
Fell the words like light leaves down 

On the current of the tune — 
"Rock of ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee." 

"Let me hide myself in Thee," — 

Felt her soul no need to hide — 
Sweet the song as song could be, 

And she had no thought beside; 
All the words unheedingly 

Fell from lips untouched by care, 
Dreaming not that they might be 

On some other lips a prayer — 
"Rock of ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee." 

'•Rock of ages, cleft for me," — 

'Twas a woman sung them now, 
Pleadingly and prayerfully, 

Every word her heart did know. 
Rose the song as storm-tossed bird 

Beats with weary wing the air, 
Every note with sorrow stirred, 

Every syllable a prayer — 
"Rock of ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee." 

"Rock of ages, cleft for me," — 
Lips grown aged sung the hymn 

Trustingly a d tenderly, 

Voice grown weak and eyes grown 
dim — 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



55 



"Let me hide myself in Thee," 

Trembling though the voice and low, 
Kan the sweet strain peacefully, 

Like a river in its flow; 
Sang as only they can sing 

Who life's thorny path have prest; 
Sang as only they can sing 

Who behold the promised rest — 
"■Rock of ages, cleft for me, 

Let me hide myself in Thee." 

"Rock of ages, cleft for me," — 

Sung above a coffin lid; — 
Underneath all restfully, 

All life's joys aud sorrows hid; 
Nevermore, O storm-tossed soul! 

Nevermore from wind or tide, 
Nevermore from billow's roll 

Wilt thou need thyself to hide. 
Could the sightless, sunken eyes,! 

Closed beneath the soft gray hair, 
Could the mute and stiffened lips 

Move again in pleading prayer, 
Still, aye, still, the words would be, — 

"Let me hide myself in Thee." 

[Lines enclosed in quotations to be 
sung.) 



The Last Hymn. 

Marianne Fakningham. 

The Sabbath day was endiug in a vil- 
lage by the sea, 

The uttered benediction touched the 
people tenderly, 

And they rose to face the sunset in the 
glowing, lighted west, 

And then hastened to their dwellings 
for God's blessed boon of rest. 

But they looked across the waters, and 
a storm was raging there; 

-A fierce spirit moved above them — the 
wild spirit of the air— 

And it lashed, and shook, and tore 
them till they thundered, groaned 
and boomed, 

Ami, alas! for any vessel in their yawn- 
ing gulfs entombed. 

Very anxious were the people on that 
rocky coast of Wales, 



Lest the dawn of coming morrows should 

be telling awful tales, 
When the sea had spent its passion and 

should cast upon the shore 
Bits of wreck, and swollen victims, as 

it had done heretofore. 

With the rough winds blowing round 

her a brave woman strained her 

eyes, 
As she saw along the billows a large 

vessel fall and rise. 
Oh! it did not need a prophet to tell 

what the end must be, 
For no ship could ride in safety near 

that shore in such a sea. 

Then the pitjing people hurried from 

their homes and thronged the 

beach. 
Oh, for power to cross the waters and 

the perishing to reach! 
Helpless hands were wrung in terror, 

tender hearts grew cold with 

dread. 
Aud the ship urged by the tempest to 

the fatal rock-shore sped. 

"She's parted in the middle! Oh, the 

half of her goes down! 
God have mercy! Is His heaven far to 

seek for those who drown? 
Lo! when next the white, shocked faces 

looked with terror on the sea, 
Only one last clinging figure on a spar 

was seen to be. 

Nearer to the trembling watchers came 

the wreck tossed by the wave, 
Aud the man still clung and floated, 

though no power on earth could 

sa\ e. 
"Could we send him a short message? 

Here's a trumpet, shout away! 
'Twas Hie preacher's hand that took it, 

aud he wondered what to say. 

Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? 

Secondly? Ah, no. 
There was but one thing to utter in 

that awful hour of woe. 
So he shouted through the trumpet, 

"Look to Jesus! Can you hear?" 



56 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Ami "Aye. aye, sir* 1 rang the answer 

o'er the waters loud and clear. 

Then they listened, "lie is singing, 'Je- 
sus, lover of my soul.' " 

And the winds brought back the echo, 
"While the nearer waters roll." 

Strange indeed it was to hear him, "Till 
the storm of life is past," 

Singing bravely o'er the waters. "Oh. 
receive my soul at last." 

He could have no other refuge, "Hangs 

my helpless soul on thee." 
"Leave, oh: leave me not" — the singer 

dropped at last into the sea. 
And the watchers lookiug homeward. 

through their eyes by tears made 

dim, 
Said, '"He passed to be with Jesus in the 

singing of that hymn." 



Money Musk. 

Ah. the buxom girls that helped the 

boys — 
The nobler Helens of humbler Troys — 
As they stripped the husks with rustling 

fold 
From eight-rowed corn as yellow as 

gold, 

By the caudle-light, in pumpkin bowls, 
And the gleams that showed fantastic 

holes 
In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin, 
From the hermit glim set up within; 

By the rarer light in girlish eyes 
As dark as wells, or as blue as skies, 
I hear the laugh when the ear is red. 
I see the blush with the forfeit paid. 
The cedar cakes with the ancient twist, 
Ths cider cup that the girls have kissed; 
And I see the fiddler through the dusk 
As he twangs the Ghost of "Money 
Musk!" 

The boys and girls in a double row 
Wait face to face till the magic bow 
Shall whip the tune from the violin, 
And the pulse of merry feet begin. 



MONEY MUSK. 

In shirt of check, and tallowed hair, 
The fiddler sits in the bulrush chair 
Like Moses' basket stranded there 

On the brink of Father Nile. 
He feels the iiddle's slender neck, 
Picks out the note, with thrum and 

check; 
And times the tune with nod aud beck, 

And thinks it a weary while. 
All read}'! Now he gives the call, — 
Cries, "Honor to the ladies!" All 
The jolly tides of laughter fall 

And ebb in a happy smile. 

"Begin.," D-o-w-n comes the bow on 

every string. 
"First couple join hands and swing!" 
As light as an\~ blue-bird's wing — 

Swing once and a half times round" 
Whirls Mary Martin all in blue — 
Calico gown and stockings new, 
And tinted eyes that tell you true. 

Dance all to the dancing sound, 

She flits about big Moses Brown, 

Who holds her hands to keep her down 

And thinks her hair a golden brown, 

Aud his heart turns over once! 
His cheek with Mary's breath is wet,— 
It gives a second somerset! 
He means to win the maiden yet, 

Alas for the awkward dance! 

"Your stoga boot has crushed my toe! 
I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe! 
You clumsy fellow! 1 ' "Pass below" 

And the first pair dance apart. 
Then "Forward six!" advance, retreat, 
Like midges gay in sunbeam street. 
'Tis Money Musk by merry feet 

And the Money Musk by heart! 

"Three quarters round your partner 

swing!" 
"Across the set!" The rafters ring. 
The girls and boys have taken wing 

And have brought their roses out! 
'Tis "Forward six!" with rustic grace, 
Ah, rarer far than— "Swing to place!' 1 
Than golden clouds of old point-lace 

They bring the dance about. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



57 



Then clasping hands, all— "Right and 
left!" — 

AH swiftly weave the measures deft 

Across the wool" in loving weft, 

And the Money Musk is done! 
Oh, dancers of the rustling husk! 
Good night, sweet hearts, 'tis growing 

dusk, — 
Good nighl for aye to Money Musk, 
For the heavy march begun! 

Benj. F. Taylor. 



The Engineers' Making Love. 

It's noon when "Thirty-live" is due, 
An' she comes on time, like a flash of 
light, 
An' yon hear her whistle, "Toot-tee- 
too I 1 ' 
Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight. 
Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day,' 
An' he's callin' his sweetheart, far 
away — 
Gertrude Hard— lives down by the mill 
You might see her blushin'; she knows 
it's Bill. 
"Tu-die! Toot-ee! Tu-die! Tu!" 

Six-five A. M. there's a local comes — 

Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east; 
An' the way her whistle sings an' hums 

Is a livin' caution to man an' beast. 
Every one knows who Jack White calls 

Little Lou Woodbury, down by the 
Falls; 
Summer or winter, always the same, 

She hears her lover callin' her name — 
"Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Loo-ie! 

At six-fifty-eight yon can hear "Twenty- 
one" 
Go thunderin' west, and of all the 
screams 
That ever startled the rising sun, 

Jehu Davis sends into your dreams; 
But I don't mind it; it makes me grin — 
For just down here, where the creek 
lets in, 
His wife, Jerusha, can hear him call, 

Loud as the throat of brass can bawl, 
Jeee-rooo-shee! Jehoo!" 



But at the (tin 1 -tifty-one old "Sixty-four', 
Boston Express runs oast, clear 

through— 
Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar 
With the softest, whistle that ever 
blew; 
An' away on the furthest edge of the 
town, 
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown 
Shine like the starlight, bright an' clear, 
When she hears the whistle of Abel 
Gear — 
"You-ou-ou, Su-u-u-u-e!" 

An' 'long at midnight a freight comes in, 

Leaves Berlin some time — I don't 
know when — 
But it rumbles along with a fearful dim, 

Till it reaches the Y-switeh there, and 
then 
The clearest notes of the softest bell 

That out of a bra/en goblet fell, 
Wake Nellie Mtnton out of her dreams — 

To her like a wedding bell it seems — 
"Nell, Nell, Nell! Nell, Nell, Nell!" 

An' somewhere late in the afternoon, 
You'll see "Thirty-seven" go streakin' 
west; 
It's local from Hartford; same old tune 
Now sat for the girl that loves him 
best. 
Tom Wilson rides on the right-hand, 
side 
Givin' her steam at every stride; 
An' he touches the whistle low and 
clear, 
For Lulu Gray, on the hill, to hear — 
"Lu-lu! Loo-Loo!" 

So it goes on all day an' all night, 
Till the old folk have voted the thing 
a bore; 
Old m«ids and bachelors say it aiut 
right 
For folks to do courtin' with such a 
roar. 
But the engineers theirs kisses will blow 
From a whistle-valve, to the girls they 
know. 
An' the stokers the name of their sweet- 
hearts tell 



58 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



With the Belle! Nell! Dell! of the 
swaying bell. 

Robert J. Burdette. 



Jesus, Lover of my Soul. 

•Jesus lover of 1113- soul, 
Let me to thy bosom fly; 

While the billows near me roll, 
While the tempest still is nigh" — 

Carelessly a little child, 

In the sunshine, at her play, 

Lisping sang, and sweetly smiled 
On a joyous April day. 

Sang with laughter, light and droll- 
Sang with mirth in each blue eye: 

"Jesns, lover of my soul. 
Let me to thy bosom fly:" 

"Hide me, O my Savior, hide, 

Till the storm of life is past, 
Safe into the haven guide, 

Oh, receive my soul at last!" 
Sang a maiden with a face 

Free from look of earthly care. 
With a form of faultless grace, 

With a wreath of golden hair — 
Saug with heart by grief untried, 

Sang with no regretful past: 
"Safe into the haven guide, 

Oh, reeeive my soul at last:" 

"Other refuge, have I none — 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee, 
Leave, oh! leave me not alone — 

Still support and comfort me!" 
Sang a mother, while she bowed 

O'er her babe, as it lay 
Wrapped within a snowy shroud 

On a dreary autumn day. 
Sang of hopes forever flown — 

Sang of eyes that could not see — 
"Leave, oh! leave me not alone, 

Still support and comfort me:" 

"All my trust on Thee is stayed, 
Ail my help from Thee I bring, 

Cover my defenseless head 
Witli the shadow of Thy wing." 

Faint ami weary in the race, 
In death's winter evening gray, 

With a sweet, angelie face, 



Dreamed a woman— far away; 
As the feeble twilight fled 

Angels seemed with her to sing. 
"Cover my defenseless head 

With the shadow of Thy wing:" 

"Jesus, lovers of my soul. 

Let me to Thy bosom fly. 
While the billows near me roll. 

While the tempest still is nigh:" 
Ah, how soon our hopes decay — 

We must suffer and eudure, 
Strive and struggle as we may. 

Life is short, and death is sure 
We may hear the anthems roll 

Through the starry realms on high. 
"Jesus, lover of my soul. 

Let me to Thy bosom fly:'' 

Eugene J. Hall. 

[Lines enclosed in quotations io be 
sung.] 

Sister and I. 
We were hunting for wintergreen hemes 

One May-day, long gone by, 
Out on the rocky cliff's edge, 

Little sister and I. 
Sister had hair like the sunbeams; 

Black as a crow's wing, mine; 
Sister had blue, dove's eyes; 

Wicked, black eyes are mine- 
Why, see how my eyes are faded — 

And my hair, it is white as snow: 
And thin, too: don't you see it is? 

I tear it sometimes; so: 
There, don't hold my hands. Maggie, 

I dou't feel like tearing it now. 
But — where was I in my story? 

Oh, I was telling you how 
Wewere looking for wintergreen berries 

Twas one bright morning in May. 
And the moss-grown roeks were slippery 

With the rains of yesterday. 
But I was cross that morning. 

Though the sun shone ever so bright— 
And when sister found the most berries. 

I was angry enough to tight: 
And when she laughed at my pouting — 

We were little things you know — 
1 clinched my little tist up tight. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



59 



And struck her the biggest blow! 
I struck her — I tell you — I struck her, 

And she fell right over below — 
There, there, Maggie, I wont rave now; 

You needn't hold me so— 
She went right over, I tell you, 

Down, down to the depths below! 
'Tis deep and dark and horrid 

There, where the waters How! 
She fell right over, moaning, 
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so sad, 
That, when I looked down affrighted, 

It drove me mad— mad! 
Only her golden hair streaming 

Out on the rippling wave, 
Only her little hand reaching 

Up for someone to save ; 
And she sank clown in the darkness, 

I never saw her again, 
And this world is a chaos of blackness 

And darkness and grief since then. 
No more playing together 

Down on the pebbly strand; 
Nor building our doll's stone castles 

With halls and parlors grand; 
No more fishing with bent p'ns, 

In the little brook's clear waves; 
No more holding funerals 

O'er dead canaries' graves; 
No more walking together * 

To the log school-house each morn; 
No more vexing the master 

With putting his rules to scorn; 
No more feediug of white lambs 

With milk from the foaming pail; 
No more playing "see-saw"' 

Over the fence of rail; 
No more telling of stories 
After we've gone to bed; 
Nor talking of ghosts and goblins 
Till we fairly shiver with dread; 
No more whispering fearfully 

And hugging each other tight, 
When the shutters shake and the dogs 
howl 
In the middle of the night; 
No more saying "Our Father," 
Kneeling by mother's knee— 
For, Maggie, I struck sister! 
And mother is dead, you sec. 



Maggie, sister's an angel, 
Isn't she? Isn't it true? 
For angels have golden tresfi 

And eyes like sister's, blue? 
Now my hair isn't golden, 

My eyes aren't blue, you see — 
Now tell me, Maggie if I were to die, 

Could they make an angel of me? 
You say, "Oh, yes;" you think so? 

Well, then, when I come to die, 
We'll play up there, In God's garden — 

We'll play there, sister and I. 
Now, Maggie, you needn't eye me, 

Because I'm talking so queer; 
Because I'm talking so strangely; 

You needn't have the least fear. 
Somehow I'm feeling to-night, Maggie, 

As I never felt before — 
I'm sure, I'm sure of it, Maggie, 

I never shall rave any more. 
Maggie, yon know how these long years 

I've heard her calling, so sad, 
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so mournful 

It always drives me mad! 
How the winter wind shrieks down the 
chimney, 

"Bessie oh, Bessie!" oh! oh!" 
How the south wind wails at the case- 
ment, 

"Bessie, oh, Bessie," so low. 
But most of all when the May-days 

Come back, with the flowers and the 
sun. 
How the night-bird, singing, all lonely, 

"Bessie, oh, Bessie," loth moan; 
You know how it sets me raving — 

For she moaned, "Oh Bessie just so, 
That ti mo I struck little sister, 

On the ay-day long ago. 
Now, Maggie, I've something to tell 
you— 

You know May-day is here — 
Well, this very morning, at sunrise, 

The robins chirped "Bessie!" so clear 
All day long the wee birds, singing, 

Perched on the garden wall, 
Called "Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so sweetly, 

I couldn't feel sorry at all. 
Now, Maggie, I've something to tell you 

Let me lean up to you close — 
Do you see how the sunset has Hooded 



<3o 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The heavens with yellow and rose? 
Do you see o'er the gilded cloud moun- 
tains 
Sister's golden hair streaming out? 
Do yon see her little hand beckoning? 
Do you hear her little voice calling 
out 
"Bessie, oh, Bessie !' ' so gladly, 
"Bessie, oh, Bessie! Come, hast- 

Yes, sister, I'm coming; I'm coming, 
To play in God's garden at last! 



Searching for the Slain- 

Hold the lantern aside, and shudder not 
so; 
There's more blood to see than this 
stain on the snow; 
There are pools of it, lakes of it, just 
over there, 
And fixed faces all streaked, and 
crimson-soaked hair. 
Did yon think, when we came, you and 
I, out to-night 
To search for our dead, you would 
see a fair sight? 

You, re his wife; you love him — you 
think so; and I 
Am only his mother; my boy shall 
not lie 
In a ditch with the rest, while my arms 
can bear 
His form to a grave that mine own 
may soon share. 

So, if your strength fails, best go sit by 
the hearth, 
While his mother alone seeks his bed 
on the earth. 

You will go! then no fainting! Rive 
me the light, 
And follow my foot-steps, — my heart 
will lead right. 
Ah, God! what is here? a great heap of 
the slain, 
All mangled and gory! — what horri- 
ble pain 
These beings have died in! Dear moth- 
ers, ye weep, 
Ye weep, oh, ye weep o'er this terri- 
ble sleep! 



More! more! Ah! 1 thought I could 
nevermore know 
Grief, horror, or pity, for aught, here 
below, 
Since I stood in the porch and heard 
his chief tell 
How brave was my son, how he gal- 
lantly fell. 
Did they think I cared then to see offi- 
cers stand 
Before my great sorrow, each hat in 
eactuhand? 

Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence 
nor fright. 
That your red hauds turn over to- 
ward this dim light 
These dead men that stare so? Ah, if 
you had kept 
Your senses this morning ere his com- 
rades had left. 
You had heard that his place was worst 
of th :m all, — 
Not mid the stragglers, — where he 
fought he would fall. 

There's the moon thro' the clouds: O 
Christ, what a scene! 
Dust thou from thy heavens o'er such 
visions lean, 
And still call this cursed world a foot- 
stool of thine? 
Hark, a groan! there another, — here 
in this line 
Piled close on each other! Ah, here is 
the flag, 
Torn, dripping with gore; — bah! they 
died for this rag. 

Here's the voice that we seek: poor 
soul, do not start; 
We're women, not ghosts. What a 
gash o'er the heart! 
Is there aught we can do? A message 
to give 
To any beloved one? I swear, if I 

live, 
To take it for sake of the words my 
boy said: 
"Home,' 1 "mother," "wife," ere he reel* 
ed down 'mong the dead. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



61 



But, first, can you toll where his regi- 
ment stood? 
Speak, Speak, man, Of point; 'twas 
the Ninth. Oh, the blood 
Is chokiug his voice! What a look of 
despair! 
There, lean on my knee, while I put 
back the hair 
From eyes so fast glazing. Oh. my 
darling, my own, 
My hands were both idle when you 
died alone, 

He's dying— lie's dead! Close his lids, 

let us go. 
God's peace on his soul! Tf we only 

could know 
Where our own de ir one lies! — my soul 

has turned sick; 
Must we crawl o'er these bodies that lie 

here so thick V 
I cannot! I cannot! How eager you 

aie! 
One might think you were nursed on 

the red lap of War. 

He's not here, — and not here. What 
wild hopes flash through 
My thoughts, as foot-deep I stand in 
this dread dev\, 
And cast up a prayer to the blue quiet 
sky! 
Was it you, girl, that shrieked? Ah! 
what face doth lie 
Upturned toward me there, so rigid and 
white? 
O God, my brain reels! 'Tis a dream. 
My old sight 

Is dimmed with these horrors. My son! 
oh my son! 
Would I had died for thee, my own, 
only one! 
There, lift off your arms; let him come 
to the breast 
AVhere first he was 1 idled, with my 
soul's hymn, to rest. 
Your heart never thrilled to your lover's 
fond kiss 
As mine to his baby-touch; was it for 
this? 



He was yours, too; he loved you? Yes, 
yes, you're right . 
Forgive me, my daughter, I'm mad- 
dened to-night ! 
Don't moan so, dear child; you're 
young, and your years 
May still hold fair hopes; but the old 
die of tears. 
Yes, take him again; — ah! don't lay 
your face there; 
See the blood from his wound has 
stained your loose hair. 
How quiet you are! Has she fainted? — 
her cheek 
Is cold as his own. Say a word to me, 
— speak! 
Am 1 crazed? Has her heart broke 
first? 
Her trouble was bitter, but sure mine 
is worst. 
I'm afraid, I'm afraid, all alone with 
these dead; 
Those corpses are stirring; God help 
my poor head. 

I'll sit by my children until the men 
come 
To bury the others, and then we'll go 
home. 
Why, the slain are all dancing! Dear- 
est, don't move, 
Keep away from my boy; he's guard- 
ed by love. 
Lullably, lullably; sleep, sweet darling, 
sleep! 
God and thy mother will watch o'er 
thee keep. 



The Country Dance- 
Joe Jot, Jr. 

"Take your places." Goodness gracious 
Don't go like a flock of gce<r. 

"Honors all.'' Keziah Muggins 
Take your hat off; if you please, 

"Forvard four aud back again." 
Jerry, round the other way! 

"Balance all, Jake how you topple, 
Have you lost your balance, say? 



62 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



"Lemonade all." Bless me Hiram, 
Don't kick up your heels so high! 

"Swing your partners." John aud Sally 
Stop your kissin' on the sly. 

•Right and left all round." Not that 
way, 

You are getting mixed up there. 
"Sashay all." Your cornfield gaiters 

Make more noise than I can bear. 

"Forward two aud back again." 
Jim don't throw yourself away! 
Dos-a-dos." Don't get excited; 
Keep your coats on, boys, I pray. 

'Gentlemen balance to the right." 
There, your all are jumping wrong! 

'Half lemonade. " Uriah Williams, 
Don't you think you're going it strong? 

'Hands all round." Now mind your 
eye there, — 

Jake yon have never danced before. 
'Ladies change." Oh, Polly Simmons, 

There you go upon the floor! 

'Forward four and back agaiu," — 

Stop, until I rosin my bow, 
'Ladies balance to the right." 

Caleb Short don't stub your toe. 

•Gentlemen balance to the left." 
S ~ap, there goes my little string. 

'Balance to your partners.,' So, — 
Hez, quit pinching Polly King. 

'Lemonade all." It's getting hot here. 
Cale, you dance like climbing up- 
stairs. 
Ladies — " There my E string's 

busted, — 
"Swing your partners to their chairs. 



The Pride of Battery B. 

South Mountain towered on our right, 

far off the river lay, 
And over on the wooded height we 

held their lines at bay. 
At last the muttering guns are still; 

the day died slow and wan; 
At last the gunners' pipes did rill, the 

sargeant's yarns began. 



When, as the wiud a moment blew^ 

aside the fragrant flood 
Our brierwoods raised, within our view 

a little maiden stood. 
A tiny tot of six or seven, from fireside- 
fresh she seemed. 
Of such a little one at home oue soldier 

often dreamed. 
And as we stared, her little hand went 

to her curly head 
In grave salute. "And who are you?" 

at length the sargeant said: 
"And where's your home?" he growled 

again. She lisped out, "Who is 

me? 
Why, don't you know? I'm little Jane, 

the Pride of Batiery B. 
My home! Why. that was burned 

away, and pa and ma are dead; 
AndsoLride the guns all day along 

with Sargeant Ned. 
And I've a drum that's not a toy, a cap. 

with feathers too; 
And I march beside the drummer boy 

on Sundays at review. 
But now our 'bacca's all give out, the- 

men can't have their smoke, 
And so they're cross — why even Ned 

won't play with me and joke. 
And the big colonel said to-day — I hate 

to hear him swear, 
He'd give a leg for a good pipe like the 

Yank had over there. 
And so I thought when beat the drum, 

and the big guns were stiil, 
I'd creep beneath the tent and come out 

here across the hill, 
And beg, good Mister Y r ankee men, 

to give me some 'Lone Jack.' 
Please do; when we get some again, I'll 

surely bring it back. 
Indeed I will, for Ned — says he — if I 

do what 1 say, 
I'll be a general yet, maybe, and ride a 

prancing bay." 
We brimmed her tiny apron o'er; you 

should have heard her laugh 
As each man from his scanty store 

shook out a generous half. 
To kiss the little mouth stooped down 
a score of grim\ T men. 



Oi.mstead's Recitations. 



63 



Until the sargeant's husky voice said, 

'"Tention squad!' 1 and then 
Wt gave her escort, till good-night the 

pretty waif we bi i, 
And Watched her toddle out of sight — 

Or else 'twas tears that hid 
Her tiny form — nor turned about a 

man, nor spoke a word, 
Till after a while a far, hoarse shout 

upon the wind we heard? 
We sent it back, then east sad eyes up- 
on the scene around; 
A baby's hand had touched the ties that 

brothers once had bound. 
That's all — save when the dawn -awoke 

again the work of hell, 
And through the sullen clouds of smoke 

the screaming missies fell, 
Our general often rubbed his glass, 

and marveled much to. see 
Not a single shell that whole day fell 

in the camp of Battery B. 



The Widow' 8 Lamp. 

A BALLAD OF THE SANDS. 
AGUSTA MOOKE. 

Over the ribs of the salt sea sand, 
Far, far out from the sheltered land, 
Feet uncovered and free of limb, 
Danced she into the sea-mist dim; 
Angela Rainor, the widow's light, 
The lone bright star in a heavy night. 

Over the sands, with a wild, sweet song, 
Light as a beach- bird, she skimmed 

along, 
Seeking for shells that were left behind 
When the tide went out; and in hope 

to find 
Scallops and crabs, and some razor-fish, 
To make for her mother a savory dish. 

"I'm a long way out" said the little 

maid; 
But then I'm never the least afraid; 
At any time I can hurry back, 
I can find the shore by my own plain 

track. 
Oh! But 'tis nice to be out by the sea! 
A mermaid how I would love to be; 



To dart, with the fishes up and down. 
To frolic and caper and never drown. " 

"Ilillo! small mesmate," called Uncle 

Jim, 
The whaler, just from a glorious swim 
Out by the breakers not far away, 
"What luck, Sand Piper, in fishing to- 
day?" 
'Basket brimful, sir, and there it stands,' 
She pointed back o'er the misty sands; 
Dimly he saw it, safe and high, 
On a lofty rock that was always dry. 

"Good! littleanessmate. But don't stay 

long, 
The tide will be turning and setting in 

strong. 
I heard the sea-witches out there in the 

spray 
Tell how they were brewing a tough 

storm to-day." 

"I'm going soon, sir." Her brown hand 

she kissed 
With the grace of a princess, and van- 
ished in mist. . 
He heard in the waters the splash of 

her feet, 
And as he went shoreward her voice, 

faintly sweet,' 
Came back on the wind that blew inland 

the foam, 
[Sing.] 
"Yes, yes, I am going, I'm soon going 

home. 
But not just this minute," thus low to 

herself, 
Playing ''catch" with the waves, sang 

the beautiful elf. 
"Go home, Captain Jim, but be sure 

you don't tell 
That you found me so near where the 

loud breakers swell." 

The tiny waves rolled as in play o'er 

her feet, 
And upward they leaped, as if trying 

to meet 
The touch of her hand. Then tiny 

broke on the strand. 
Each one just a little nearer the land. 
How happy the child! how intent her 

play! 



64 Olmstead's Recitations. 

Till a sudden rough wave dashed her The gay Susan Jaue was his joy and his 

over with spray. pride, 

Then startled she listened. None rear- A beautiful yacht, and the captain's s 

ed on the shore bride. 

That knows not too well what is meant :T think I will wait for Sand Piper/* 

by that roar. said he; 

'T must run for my basket and hurry to "A woman worth having I reckon she'll 

land/' be. 

Oh: where was the rock? where the My eyes!" he said earnestly, "how she 

tracks in the sand ? can sing! 

Fast over her gathered the mists more I'm glad she's safe under her good 

and more. mother s wing— 

And louder and nearer that terrible "God a' mercy!" he shouted in sudden 

roar; a fright. 

The breakers were booming and bellow- While chattered his teeth, and his brown 

ing near, face grew white. 

And blinded by spray, she was fainting As something was thrown by the waves 

with fear. at his feet. 

'•Oh, mother!'' she cried in her anguish With seaweed and grass for its wet 

and pain, winding-sheet: 

'"My mother! I never shall see you With seaweed and grass in its long, 

again. clinging hair, 

My basket, all tilled for your sake, will It was cast at his feet as if left in his 

be found; care. 

But. O my dear mother, your child will Great sobs from his breast told how 

be drowned " grievous his pain. 

Wide on the waves spread her long And tears down his N" 1 "** 1 ™* 1 ^ eeks 

locks of gold,— rushed like rain - 

To sad widow Kainor a treasure un- The sea grass he brushed from thf 

to ] c ] form away, 

And the hungry salt billows that sway- And tender] ~ v ™P ed from the fair face 

ed her hair, lhe "P"*- 

Dashed foam on the lovely face lifted in ' M ^ poor little m ^ m * te -" he choking- 

praj ] y said; 

As Angela, standing breast-high in the "* thoil g ht * T0U with mother, and here 

flood, y° u ]ie dead." 

Stretching ouc her small arms raised As Angela bearing, he turned from the 

her cry unto God: shore, 

•Mother says that you love, Lord Jesus How clearly his heart heard her sweet 

O come! voice once more. 

And over the stormy waves carry me From far o'er the sea the glad - 

home. 1 ' seemed to come — 

Now brave Captain Jim, when he heard "Yes. yes I am going. I'm sc going 

the waves roar. home! 

Crowded all sail, so he said, for the ' ' ' " ' 

shore. The Sioux Chiefs Daughter - 

ifthe moorings of gay "Susan [abridged] 

A , , , , Two grav hawks ride the rising I 

able to stand the unusual strain. ~ , , * , , ,. * , 

Dark cloven clouds erne to and fro 



Oi-Mstead's Recitations. 



65 



By peaks preeminent in snow; 
A Bounding river rushes past, 
So wild, so vortex-like, and vast. 

Alone lodge tops the windy bill; 
A tawny maiden, mute and still, 
Stands waiting at the river's brink. 
As wierd and wild as you can think. 
A mighty chief is at her feet; 
She do»-s not heed him wooing so — 
She hears the dark, wild waters tlow; 
She waits her lover, tall and tleet, 
From far gold Gelds of Idaho, 
Beyond the beaming peaks of snow. 

He comes! The grim chief springs in 

air — 
His brawny arm. his blade is bare. 
She turns; she lifts her round, brown 

hand; 
She looks him fairly in the face; 
She moves her foot a little pace 
And says, with coldness and command; 
There's blood enough in this lorn land. 

But see! a test of streugth and skill. 
Of courage and fierce fortitude, 
To breast and wrestle with the rude 
And storm-born waters, now I will 
Bestow you both. Stand either side. 
Take you my left, tall Idaho; 
And you, my burly chief, I know 
Would choose my right. Now peer you 

low 
Across the water- wild aud wide. 
See! leaning so this morn I spied 
Red berries dip you farther side 
See, dipping, dripping in the stream, 
Twin boughs of autumn berries gleam! 
Now. this, brave m*»n, shall be the test: 
Plunge in the si ream, bear kuife in 

teeth, 
To cut yon bough for bridal wreath. 
Plunge in! and he who bears him best. 
And brings yon ruddy fruit to land 
The first, shall have my heart and hand" 

Two tawny nun, tall, brown, and 

the wed 
Like antique bronzes rarely s 
Shot up like flame. She stood between 
Like hxed. impassive fortitude. 
Then one threw robes with sullen air. 



And wound red i'o\-tails i;; his hair; 
But one with face of proud delight, 
Entwined a crest of snowy white. 
She stood between. She sudden gave 
The sign, and each impatient brave 
Shot sudden in the sounding wave; 
The startled waters gurgled round; 
Their stubborn strokes kept sullen 
sound. 

Oh, then awoke the love that slept! 
Oh, then her heart beat loud aud strong! 
Oh, then the proud love pent up long 
Broke forth in wail upon the air! 
And leaning there she sobbed and wept, 
With dark face mantled in her hair. 
Now side by side the rivals plied, 
Yet no man wasted words or breath; 
And all was still as stream of death. 
Now side by side their strength was 

tried; 
And now they breathless paused and lay 
Like brawny wrestlers well at bay. 
And now they dived, dived long, and 

now 
Two black heads lifted from the foam, 
And shook aback the dripping brow, 
Then shouldered sudden glances home. 

They near the shore at last; and now 
The foam flies spouting from a face 
That laughing lifts from out the race. 
The race is won, the work is done! 
She sees the climbing crest of snow; 
She knows her tall, brown Idaho. 
She cries aloud, she laughing cries, 
While tears are streaming from her 
eyes: 

splendid, kingly Idaho! 

1 kiss his lifted crest of snow; 

I see him clutch the bending bough! 
'Tis cleft — he turns! is coming now! 

My tall and tawny king, come back! 
Come swift, O sweet! why falter so? 
Come, come! What thing has crossed 

your track? 
I kneel to all the gods I how. 
Oh come, my manly Idaho! 
Great Spirit, what is this I dread? 
Why there is blood! the wa> e is red! 
That wrinkled chief.oulstripprd in race, 



66 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Dives down, ami hidiug from my lace, 
Strikes underneath! He rises now! 
Now plucks my hero's berry bough, 
And lifts aloft his red fox head, 
And signals he lias won for me. 
Hist, softly! Let him come and see. 
() come, my white-erowuedhero, come! 
Oh come, and I will be your bride, 
Despite yon chieftain's craft and might. 

"How slow he buffe'4 back the wave! 
O God, he sinks! O Heaven! save 
My brave, brave boy! He rises! See! 
Hold last, 013- boy! Strike, strike for me. 
Strike straight this way! Strike firm 

and, strong! 
Hold fast your strength! It is not long — 
O God; he sinks! He sinks! is gone! 
His face lias perished from my sight. 

"And did I dream and do I wakey 
Or did I wake and now but dream? 
And what is this crawls from the stream? 
Oh, here is some mad, mad mistake. 
What! you the red fox, at my feet? 
You first, and failing from the race? 

"What! you have brought me berries 

red? 
What! you have brought your bride a 

wreath? 
You sly old fox with wrinkled face — 
That blade has blood between your 

teeth. 
Lie still, lie still! till I lean o'er 
And clutch your red blade to the shore. 
Ha, ha! Take that, and that, and that! 
Ha! ha! So, through your coward throat 
The-full day shines!" Two fox-tails 

float 
And drift and drive adown the stream. 
"But what is this? What snowy crest 
Climbs out the willows of the west. 
All weary, wounded, bent, aud slow. 
And dripping from his streaming hair? 
It is, it is my Id iho! 
His feet are on the land, and fair 
His face is lifting to my face, 
For who shall now dispute the race?" 
— Joacjuix Milek. 



You put no Flowers on my Papa's Grave. 

C. E. L. Holmes. 

With sable-draped banners, and slow 

measured tread, 
The flower-laden ranks pass the gates 

of the dead; 
Aud seeking each mound where a com- 
rade's f vini n 
Leave tear-bedewed garlands to bloom 

on his breast, 
Ended at last is the labor of love; 
Once more through the gateway the 

saddened lines move — 
A wailing of augui-h. a sobbing of grief, 
Falls low ou the ear of the battle-scarred 

chief; 
Close crouched by the portals, a sunny-. 

haired child 
Besought him in accents which grief 

rendered wild: 

"Oh! sir, he was good, and they say he 

died brave — 
Why! why! did you pass by my dear 

papa's grave? 
I know he was poor, but as kind and 

as true 
As ever marched into the battle with 

you- 
IEs grave is so humble, no stone marks 

the spot. 
You may not have seen it. Oh, say you 

did not! 
For my poor heart will break if you 

knew he was there, 
And thought him to lowly your offer- 

ings to share. 
He didn't die lowly — he poured his 

heart's blood, 
In rich crimson streams, from the top- 
crowning sod 
Of the breastworks which stood in 

front of the tight— 
And died shouting, 'Onward! for God 

and the rightl' 
O'er all his dead comrades your bright 

garlands wave. 
But you haven't put one on my papa's 

grave. 
If mamma were here— but she lies by 
his side, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



6; 



Her wearied heart broke when our dear 
papa died." 

"Battalion! file left! countermarch!' 1 

oried the chief, 
"This young orphan'd maid hath full 

cause for her grief." 
Then up in his arms from the hot dusty 

street, 
He lifted the maiden, while in through 

the gate 
The long line repasses, and many an 

eye 
Pays fresh tribute of tears to ihe lone 

orphan's sigh. 

"This way, it is— here, sir — right under 

this tree; 
They lie close together, with just room 

for me." 

"Halt! Cover with roses each lowly 

greeu mound — 
A love pure as this makes these graves 

hallowed ground." 

"Oh! thank you, kind sir! I ne'er can 

repay 
The kindness you've shown little Daisy 

to-day; 
But I'll pray for you here, each day 

while I live, 
'Tis all that a poor soldier's orphan 

can give. 
I shall see papa soon, and dear mam- 
ma too — 
I dreamed so last night, and I know 

'twill come true; 
And they will both bless you, I know, 

when I say 
How you folded your arms round their 

dear one fo day — 
How you cheered her sad heart, and 

soothed it to rest, 
And hushed Its wild throbs on your 

strong, noble breast; 
And when the kind angels shall call 

you to come, 
We'll welcome you there to our beauti- 
ful home 
Where death never comes, his black 

bauner to wave, 



And the beautiful flowers ne'er weep 
o'er a crave." 



Daisy's Faith- 
Joanna II. MATHEWS. 

Down in the de b'ight deen meadow 

De pitty daisies' home- 
Daisies dat are my namesa! 

Mamma has let me tome. 
S'e said dat s'e t on it I see me 

From her y.oom window dere; 
Besides I know our Fader 

Will tee]) me in his tare. 

Oh! see how many daisies. — 

Daisies so white and fair — 
I'll make a weaf for mamma, 

To wear upon her hair, 
An' den s'e'll loot so pitty — 

My darliu' own mamma! — 
An' tiss her 'ittle Daisy, 

An' s'ow it to papa. 

One, tw r o, fee, sits an' 'leven, 

Hundred an' eight an' nine; 
I b'ieve dat's mos' enough now, 

To make it pitty fine, 
I wouldn't be af'aid here, 

Mamma and Dod tan see, 
I know they would let nossiu' 

Tome near dat tould hurt me. 

De bweeze is soft an' toolin', 

Au' tosses up my turls; 
I dess it tomes from heaven 

To play wis 'ittle dirls. 
De b'rdies sin' so sweetly; 

To me dey seem to say, 
' 'Don't be af'aid, dear Daisy, 

Dod teeps oo all de day." 

I'll make a ball for baby 

Soon as dis weaf is done, 
An' den I'll fow it at her — 

Oh my, my fwead's all don'! 
Well, den, I'll tate dis wibbon 

Off of my old straw hat; 
I sint mamma would let me; 

I'll — oh, dear me! what's dat? 



*6$ 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



I sought I did hear somesin 

Move in dat bus' fcose by; 
Tin not at all afaid, dough; 

Oh! no. indeed; not I! 
Mamma — why sVs not looting 

S'e's fom de window don'; 
Den maybe Dod is tired, too, 

Tausa I 'taid here so Ion' 

I dess I'll yuu a 'ittle, 

I b'ieve Dod wants me to; 
He taut tate too much touble, 

I sint I'd better do, 
An' tate my pitty Towers, 

An' 'tay wis mamma dear; 
Dod is 'way up in heav3n — 

I would like some one near. . 

~My daisies' dey are fallin'; 

My han's are s'atin' so — 
Oh dear! de weaf is boten; 

Don't tare! I want to do. 
I know dere's somesin' live clere; 

See now! dere's two bid eyes 
A lootin' yight stwaight at me — 

Dod's way up in de sties. 

Tau He tate tare of Daisy? 

1 see a deat, blat head 
A tomin' foo de bus'es; 

But then I'm not afaid; 
Only — I want my mamma — 

I dess dat is a bear; 
Bears eat up 'ittle children! 

I wis' dat Dod was here! 

Off! ow! I tant help steamin'; 

Oh dear! I so afaid! 
Tome, mamma! Oh! tome twitly 

To help oor 'ittle maid. 
Dod has fordot oor Daisy; 

Dat bear is toming' fast — 
Why? 'tis our dear old Yover 

Tome home fom town at last. 

*Oh Yover! dear ole dordy, 

What made oo f wight — well, no, 
I'm not afaid— for, Yover, 

Dod tares for me, oo know; 
He would 1*4 nosshf hurt me— 

Dere's mamma lootin', too. 
We'll mend dat weaf now, yover, 

Mamma will lite it so. 



Rook Me to Sleep Mother. 

Backward, turn backward! oh. time in 

your flight; 
Make me a child again, just for to-night! 

Mother come back from the e-choless 

shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore. 
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of 

care, 
Smooth the few silver threads out of 

my hair; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch 

keep, 
Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to 

sleep. 

Backward, i\o^v backward, O swift tide 
of years! 

I am weary of toil, L am weary of 

tears; 
Toil without recompense, learn all in 

vain, 
Take them, and give me my childhood 

again ! 
I have grown weary of dust and decay, 
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away. 
Weary of sowing for others to reap; 
Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to 

sleep! 

Tired of the hollow, the base, the un- 
true, 

Mother, O, Mother, my heart calls for 
you! 

Many a summer the grass has grown 
green, 

Blossomed and faded, our faces be- 
tween; 

Yet with strong yearning and passion- 
ate pain, 

Long I to-night for your presence 
again; 

Come from the silence so long and so 

deep- 
Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to 
sleep! 

Over my heart in the days that have 

flown. 
No love like mother-love ever has f»hone; 
No other worship abides and endures, 



OLMSTEAD'S KhClTATIONS. 






Faithful' unselfish and patient like 

yours! 
None like a mother can charm away 

pain 
From the sick soul and the world weary 

brain. 
Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids 

creep, 
Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to 

sleep! 

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted 

with gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again as of old; 
Let it drop over my forehead to-night, 
Shading my weak eyes away from the 

light! 
For with its sunny edged shadows onee 

more 
Happy will throng the sweet visions of 

yore. 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows 

sweep, 
Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to 

sleep! 

Mother, dear mother! the years have 

been long 
Since last I was hushed by your lull i- 

by song; 
Sing then again, — to my soul it shall 

seem 
Womanhood's years have jbeen onty a 

d ream ; 
Clasp to your arms in aloving embrace; 
With your soft lashes just sweeping my 

face, 
Never hereafter, to work or to weep; 
Rock me to sleep, Mother, rock me to 

sleep! 
F. E. W., Cooperstown, F. Y. 



Cuddle Doon. 
Alexander Anderson. 
The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht 

Wi' muckle faucht an' din. 
"Oh, try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues; 

Your father's coming in." 
They never heed a word I speak. 

I try to gie a fraon; 
But aye I hap them up, an' cry. 



4 'Oh, bairnies, euddle doon !\ 
Wee Jamie wi' the curly heid — 

He aye sleeps next the wa' — 
Bangs up an' erics, "I want a piece"— 

The rascal starts them a'. 
I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks — 

They stop a wee the soun' — 
Then draw the blankets up, and cry, 

"Noo, weanies, cuddle doon!" 

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab 

Cries oot, frae 'neath the cla 
"Mither, make' Tarn gie ower at ance: 

He's kittliu' wi' his ta< 
The mischief's in that Tarn for tricks: 

He'd bother half the toon, 
But aye I hap them up, and cry, 

"Oh, bairnies cuddle doon!" 

At length they hear their father's lit; 

An, as he steeks the door, 
They turn their faces to the wa'. 

While Tom pretends to snore, 
"Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, 

As he pits all his shoon. 
"The bairnies, John are in their beds. 

An' lang since cuddled doon." 

An' just afore we bed oorsels, 

We look at oor wee lambs. 
Tarn has his airm round' wee Rabs>' 
neck, 

An' Rab his arm ronri' Tarn's 
I lift wee Jamie up the bed, 

An' as I straik each croon, 
I whisper, till my heart fills up. 

"Oh, bairnies, cuddle doen!" 

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht 

Wi' mirth that's dear to me; 
But soon the big warl,s cark an' care 

Will quaten doon their glee. 
Yet, come what will to ilka ane, 

May He who sits aboon 
Aye whisper, though, their pows be 
bauld, 

"Oh. bairnies, cuddled doon'" 



The Three Kingdoms. 

King Frederick William of Prussia 
walked in the fair green fields 
one dav, 



Olmsiead's Recitations. 



When trees and flowers were fresh with 
. the life that wakes in the month 
of May, 

And as he walked, 'twas with joy he 
saw the violet's shady bed. 

The primrose pale, and the wind-flower 
fair, and the birch-tassels over- 
head. 

Well pleased was he to have left awhile 
Berlin's gay and crowded street, 

And forget for a time his kingly cares 
'mid the blossoming hedgegrows 
sweet. 

And laying aside his royal robes, un- 
noticed to walk abroad, 

To learn, from the beanty of fields and 
flowers, new lessons of Nature's 
God. 

Spring sunshine flickered across his 

path, as he strode through the 

leafy glade. 
Till he came to a glen where a joyous 

group of village children played. 
Gathering cowslips with eager ha^le, as 

happy as happ3 T could be. 
And the King looked on till his heart 

grew gay their gayety to see. 

He called them at last all around him 

there, in the mossy, flower strewn 

dell, 
And soon they came clustering about 

him, for they knew his kind face 

well, 
Then, smiling, he held up an orange 

that there chanced in his hand to 

be: 
"To which of three kingdoms does this 

belong, my little folk'/" said he. 

There was silence awhile to the question, 
till a bright little fellow d, 

'To the vegetable kingdom, yonr Ma- 
jesty." The King he nodded his 
head; 

"Well said! Quite right! Now the or- 
ange shall be your own, my brave 
little man!" 

So saying, he tossed it to him, crying 
out, "Catch my cowslip ball if 
you can!" 



Then gaily the King in the sunshine a 
crown-piece held up to view: 

"Now to which of the kingdoms does 
this belong? Who guesses shall 
have this too " 

"To the mineral kingdom, your High- 
ness," a little lad quickly replies; 

As the silver coin in the sunlight shone, 
so sparkled his eager eyes. 

"Well answered, so here's your crown," 

said, the King, and placed the 

crown in his hand, 
While around him the other children 

delighted and wondering stand. 
''One question more I will ask," said 

the King, "and 'tis neither hard 

nor long; 
Now tell me, my little people all, to 

which kingdom do I belon ± 

In the group of little ones gathered 
there stood a tiny blue-eyed child; 

Full of thoughtf ill grace was her child- 
ish face, like a starry primrose 
mild: 

Wistfully gazing into his face, with an 
earnestness sweet to see, 

Simply she answered the King, "I think 
to the kingdom of Heaven," said 
she. 

King Frederick stooped down, and in 
his arms took the little maiden 
then. 

Aud kissing her brow, he softly said, 
"Amen, dear child, Amen." 

J. E. Bendall, 



Ginevra. 

SAMUEL EOGEKS. 

If ever you should come to Modena, 
(Where among other Telics you may see 
Tassoni's bucket, — but Mis not the true 

one,) 
Stop at a palace near the Keggio-gate, 
Dwelt in of old by one of the Donati. 

Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, 
And rich in fountains, statues, cypress- 
es, • 
Will long detain you: but. before you 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



7i 



Kntcr the bouso- forget it not, I pray 

you — 
Ami look awhile upon a picture there. 

•Tis of ;i lady in her curliest youth, 
The last of that illustrious family; 
Done by Zampicri, — but bywhom I care 

not. 
He who observe: it, ere he passes on 
(iazes his till, and comes and comes 

again, 
That he may call it up when far away. 

She sits inclining forward as to speak, 
Her lips half open, and her linger up, 
As though she said, "Beware!" Her 

vest of gold 
Broidered with flowers, and clasped 

from head to 
An emerald stone in every golden 

clasp; 
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, 
A coronet of pearls. 

But then her face, 
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, — 
"The overflowings of an innocent heart, 
It haunts me still, though many a year 

has fled, 
Like some wild melody. 

Alone it hangs 
Over a mouldering heirloom, its com- 
panion, 
An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm, 
But richly carved by Antony of Trent 
With Scripture stories from the life of 

Christ; 
A chest that came from Venice, and 

had held 
The ducal robes of some old ancesters, 
That by the way,— it may be true or 

false,— 
But don't forget the picture; and you 

will noL 
When you have heard the tale they told 
me there. 

She was an only child, — her name 
Ginevra — 
The joy, the pride of an indulgent fa- 
ther; 

And in her fifteenth year became a 
bride. 



Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, 

Her playmate from her birth, and her 
ti 1st love, 

Just as she looks there iii her bridal 
dn 

She was all gentleness, all gayety 

Her pranks the favorite theme of every 
tongue. 

But now the day was come,— the day. 
the hour; 

Now, frowning, smiling for the hun- 
dredth time, 

The nurse, that ancient lady, preached 
decorum; 

And in the lustre of her youth, she gave 

Her hand, with her heart in it, to Fran- 
cesco. 

Great was the joy but at the nuptial 

feast, 
When all sat down, the bride heiself 

was wanting, 
Nor was she to be found. Her father 

cried, 
"Tis but to make a trial of our love!" 
And filled his glass to all; but his hand 

shook, 
And soon from gue,-t to guest the panic 

spread. 
'Twas but that instant she had left 

Francesco, 
Laughing, and looking back, and Hying 

still, 
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. 
But now, alas! she w T as not to be found; 
Nor from that hour could anything be 

guessed 
But that she was not. 

Weary of his life, 

Francesco Hew to Venice, and, embark- 
ing. 

Flung it away in battle witli the Turk. 

Donati lived, and long might you have 
seen 

An old man wandering as in quest of 
something, — 

Something he could not find, — he knew 
not what. 

When he was gone, the house remained 
a w bile 



;- 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Silent ) and tenantless, — then went to 

strangers. 

Full fifty years were passed, and all 
forgotten, 

When on an idle day, a day of search 
'Mid the old lumber in the gallery. 
That mouldering chest was noticed; and 

'twas said 
By one as young, as thoughtless as Gin- 

evra, 
(""Why not remove it from its lurking 

places" 
Twas done as soon as said: but on the 

way 
It burst, — it fell,— and lo! ajskeletou, 
With here and there a pearl, an emer- 
ald -stone, 
A golden clasp, clasping a shred'of gold. 
All else had perished save a wedding 

ring, 
And a small seal, her mother's legacy, 
Engraven with a name,— the name of 

both, — "Ginevra." 

There, then, had she found a 

grave! 
VVithin that chest had she concealed 

herself, 
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the 

happy, 
When a spring lock, that lay in ambush 

there, 
Fastened her down forever. 



The Painter of Seville. 
'Twas morning in Seville; and brightly 

beamed 
The early sunlight in a chamber there, 
Showing where'er its glowing radiance 

gleamed, 
Rich, varied beautj\ "Twas the study 

where 
Murillo, the famed painter, came to 

share 
With young aspirants his long-cherished 

art, 
To prove how vain must be the teacher's 

care, 
Who strives his unbonght knowledge 

to impart, 



The language of the soul, the feeling of 
the heart. 

The pupils came, and glanced around, 
Medez upon his canvas found, 
Not his own work of yesterday, 
But glowing in the morning ray. 
A sketch, so rich, so pure, so bright, 
It almost seemed that there were given 
To glow before his dazzled sight 
Tints and expressions warm from 
Heaven. 

'Twas but a sketch— the Virgin's head- 
Yet was unearthly beauty shed 
Upon the mildly beaming face: 
The lip, the eye, the blended grace— 
A poet's brightest dream was there! 

Murillo entered, and amazed, 

On the mysterious painting gazed; 

•Whose work is this'? — speak, tell me! 

—he 
Who to his aid such power can call," 
Exclaimed the teacher eagerly, 
"Will yet be master of us all; 
Would I had done it! Ferdinand! 
Isturiz! Mendez!— say whose hand 
Among ye all?'' — With half breathed, 

sigh, 
Each pupil answered: " 'Twas not I!" 

"How came it, then?" impatiently 
Murillo cried; "but we shall see 
Ere long into this mistery. 
Sebastian!" 
At the summons came 
A bright-eyed slave, 
Who trembled at the stern rebuke 
His master gave. 

For, ordered in that room to sleep, 
And faithful guard o'er all to keep, 
Murillo bade him now declare 
What rash intruder had been there, 
And threatened — if he did not tell 
The truth at once— the dungeon-cell. 
"Thou answerest not," Murillo said; 
(The boy had stood in speechless fear.) 
"Speak on!" — At last he raised his head, 
And murmured: "No one has been here, n 
"'Tis false:" Sebastaiu bent his knee, 
And clasped hands imploringly, 
And said: "I swear it, none but me!" 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



73 



"List!" said his master. "] would know 
Who t'utcrs here; there bave been found 
Before, rough sketches strewn around, 
By whose bold hand 'tis yours to show; 
See that to-night strict watch you keep, 
Nor dare to close your t yes in sleep. 
If on to-morrow morn you fail 
To answer vi hat I ask, 
The lash shall force you — do you hear? 
Hence! to your daily task." 

* -* * * * * * 

Twas midnight in Seville and faintly 

shone 
From one small lamp, a dim, uncertain 

ray 
Within Murillo's study — all were gone 
Who there, in pleasant tasks or con- 
verse gay, 
Passed cheerfully the morning hours 

away. 
'Twas shadowy gloom, and breathless 

silence, save, 
That to sad thoughts and torturing fear 

a prey, 
One bright-eyed boy was there — Mu- 

rillo's little slave. 

Almost a child — that boy had seen 

Not thrice five summers yet, 

But genius marked the lofty brow, 

O'er which his locks of jet 

Profusely curled; his cheek's dark hue 

Proclaimed the warm blood flowing 

through 
Each throbbing vein a mingled tide, 
To Africa and Spain allied. 
"Alas!" what fate is mine!" he said 
"The lash if I refuse to tell 
W T ho sketched those figures — if I do, 
Perhaps e'en more — the dungeon-cell!" 
He breathed a prayer to Heaven for aid; 
It came, for soon, in slumber laid, 
He slept, until the dawning day 
Shed on his humble conch its ray. 
"I'll sleep no more!" he cried; "and 

now, 
Three hours of freedom I may gain, 
Before my master comes; for theu 
I shall be but a slave again. 
Three blessed hours of freedom! how 
Shall I employ them? ah! e'en now 



The figure on that canvas traced 
Must be— yes, it must be effaced." 

He seized a brush, — the morning light 
Gave to the head a softened glow; 
lie cried: "Shall I efface it? No! 
That breathing lip, the beaming eye, 
Efface them?— I would rather die!" 

The terror of the humble slave 
Gave place to the oVrpowering flow 
Of the high feelings N'ature gave — 
Which only gifted spirits know. 
He touched the brow— the 'lip— it seem- 
ed 
His pencil had some magic power; 
The eye with deeper feeling beamed — 
Sebastian then forgot the hour! 
Forgot his master and the threat 
Of punishment still hanging o'er him-. 
For with each louch new beauties met; 
And mingled in the face before him. 

At length 'twas finished; rapturously, 
He gazed — could aught more beauteous 

be? 
Awhile absorbed, entranced he stood, 
Theu started — horror chilled his blood! 
His master and the pupils all 
Were there e'en at his side! 
The terror-stricken slave was mute- 
Mercy would be denied, 
E'en could he ask it — so he deemed, 
And the poor boy half lifeless seemed. 
Speechless, bewildered — for a space 
They gazed upon that perfect face, 
Each with an artist's joy; 
At length Murillo silence broke, 
And with affected sternness spoke — 
"Who is your master, boy?', 
"You, Senor," said the trembling slave. 
"Na3 r , who, I mean, instruction gave, 
Before that Virgin's head you drew?" 
Again he answered: "Only you." 
"I gave you none," Murillo cried! 
"But I have heard," the boy replied. 
"What you to others said," 
"And more than heard," in kinder tone. 
The painter said, "'tis plainly shown 
That you have profited. 

"What (to his pupils) is his need? 
Reward or punishment?" 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



"Reward— reward!" they warmly cried, 
(Sebastian's ear was bent 
To catch the sounds he scarce believed, 
But with imploring look received.) 
"What shall it be?" They spoke of gold 
And of a splendid dress; 
But still unmoved Sebastian stood, 
Silent and motionless. 
"Speak!"|said Murillo kindly; "choose 
Your own reward — What shall it be? 
Name what you wish, I'll not refuse; 
Then speak at once and fearlessly." 
"Oh! if I dared!" — Sebastian knelt, 
And feelings he could not control, 
(But feared to utter even then) 
With strong emotion, shook his soul. 

'•Courage!" his master said, and each 
Essayed in kind, halt whispered speech, 
To sooth his overpow'ring dread. 
He scarcely heard, till someone said: 
'"Sebastian — ask — you have your choice, 
Ask for your freedom!" — At the word, 
The suppliant strove to raise his voice: 
At first but stifled sobs were heard, 
And then his prayer — breathed fervently 
"Oh! master, make my father free!" 
"Him and thyself, my noble boy!" 
Warinly the painter cried; 
Raising Sebastaiu from his feet, 
He pressed him to his side. 
E'en more than this have tiairly won: 
Thy talents rare, and filial love, 
Still be thou mine by other bonds — 
My pupil and m} 7 son. 
Murillo knew, e'en when the words 
Of generous feeling passed his lips, 
Sebastian's talent soon must lead 
To fame, that would his own eclipse; 
And, constant by his pupil gained, 
Beneath his rare, such matchless skill 
As made his name the pride of Spain. 



The Execution of Montrose- 

W. K. AYTOUN. 

Come hither, Evan Cameron! Come, 
stand beside my knee: 
I hear the river roaring down towards 
the wintry sea; 



There's shouting on the mountain-side, 
there's war within the blast, 
Old faces look upon me, old forms go 
trooping past; 
I hear the pibroch wailing amidst the 
din of fight, 
And my dim spirit wakes again upon 
the verge of night. 

'Twas I that led the Highland host 
through wild Loch aher's snows, 
What time the plaided clans came 
down to battle with Montrose. 
I've told thee how the Southrous fell 
beneath the broad claymore, 
And how we smote the Campbell clan 
by Inverlochy's shore. 
I've told thee how we swept Dundee, 
and tamed the Lindsay's pride; 
But never have I told thee yet how the 
Great Marquis died! 

A traitor soldhimto his foes; — Oh, deed 
of deathless shame! 
I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet 
with one of Assynt's name, — 
Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet 
within the glen, 
Stand he in martial gear aloue, or 
backed by armed men, — 
Face him as thou Veouldst face the man 
who wronged thy sire's renown; 
Eemember of what blood thou art, 
and strike the caitiff clown. 

They brought him to the Watergate, 
hard bound with hempen span. 
As though they held a lion there, ;ird 
not an unarmed man. 
Theys-at him high upon a cart — (the 
hangman rode below — 
They drew his hands behind his back. 
and bared his noble brow: 
Then, as a hound is slipped from leash. 
they cheered— the common 
throng, — 
And blew the note with 3-ell and shout, 
and bade him pass along. 

But when he came, though pale and 
wan, he looked so great "yuri high, 
So noble was his manly front, so calm 
his steadfast eye, — 



Olmstkad's Recitations. 



75 



The rabble rout forbore to shout, and 
each man held his breath, 
For well they knew the hero's soul 
was face to face with death. 
An then a mournful shudder through 
all the people crept, 
And some that came to scoff at him, 
now turned aside and wept. 

Had I been there with sword in hand, 
and fifty Camerons by, 
That da}- through high Dunedin's 
streets had pealed the slogan cry. 
Not all their troops of trampling horse, 
nor might of mailed men— 
Not all the rebels in the south had 
born us backward then! 
Once more his foot on Highland heath 
had trod as free as air, 
Or I, and all who bore my name, been 
laid around him there. 

It might not be. They placed him next 
within the solemu hall. 
Where once the Scottish kings were 
throned amidst .heir nobles all. 
Hut there was dust of vulgar feet on the 
polluted floor, 
And perjured traitors tilled the place 
where good men sat before. 
With savage glee came Warristoun to 
read the murderous doom: 
And then uprose the great Montrose 
in the middle of the room: 

"Now by my faith as belted knight, and 
by the name I bear, 
And by the bright Saint Andrew's 
cross that waves above us there,— 
Yea, by a greater, mightier oath, and 
oh, that such should be! 
By that dark stream of royal blood 
that lies 'twixt you and me, 
I have not sought in battle-field a 
wreath of such renown. 
Nor hoped I, on my dying day, to 
win a martyr's crown! 

""There is a chamber far away where 
sleep the good and' brave, 
But a better place ye've named forme 
than by m} r father's grave. 



For truth and right, 'gainst 1 reason's 
might, this hand hath always 
striven, , 
And ye raise it up for a witness still 
in the eye of earth and heaven." 
Then nail my head on yonder tower, — 
give every town a limb, — 
And Rod who made shall gather 
them: I go from you to Him." 

The morning dawned full darkly, the 
rain came Hashing down, 
And the jagged streak of the levin- 
bolt lit up the gloomy town: 
The thunder crashed across the heaven, 
. the fatal hour was come, 
Yet aye broke in, with muffled beat, 
the 'larum of the drum. 
There was madness on the earth below, 
and anger in the sky, 
And young and old, and rich and 
poor, came forth to see him die. 

Ah God! that ghastly gibbet! how dis- 
mal 'tis to see 
The great, tall, spectral skeleton, the 

ladder ana the tree. 
Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms 
the bells begin to toll — 
He is coming! he is coming! God's mer- 
cy on his soul! 
One long last peal of thunder— the 
clouds are cleared away, 
And the glorious sun once more looks 
dowu amidst the dazzling day. 

He is coming! he is coming! — Like a 
bridegroom from his room 
Came the hero from his prison to the 
scaffold and the doom. 
There was glory on his forehead, there 
was luster in his eye, 
And he never walked to battle more 
proudly than to die: 
There was color in his visage, though 
the cheeks of all were wan, 
And tney marveled as they saw him 
pass, that great and goodly man! 

He mounted up the scaffold, and he 
turned him to lu; crowd; 
But they dared not trust the people, 
so he might speak aloud. 






Olmstead's Recitations. 



But he looked upon the heavens, and 

they were clear and blue, 
And in the liquid ether the eye of God 
shone through: 
Yet a blaek and murky battlement lay 
resting on the hill, 
• As though the thunder slept within, — 
all else was calm and still. 

The grim Geneva ministers with anx- 
ious scowl drew near, 
As you have seen the ravens flock 
around the dying deer. 
He would not deign them word nor 
sign, but alone he bent his knee; 
And veiled his face for Christ's dear 
grace beneath the gallows-tree. 
Then, radient and serene, he rose and 
cast his cloak away, 
For he had ta'en his latest look of 
earth and sun and day. 

A beam of light fell o'er him, like a 
glory round the shriven, 
And he climed the lofty ladder, as it 
were the path to heaven. 
Then came a flash from out the cloud, 
and a stunning thunder roll, 
And no man dared to look aloft, — 
fear was on every soul. 
There was another heavy sound, a 
hush and then a groan; 
And darkness swept across the sky — 
the work of death was done. 



Mary, the Maid of the Inn. 

Robert Southey. 

Who is yonder poor maniac, whose 

wildly-fixed eyes 

Seem a heart overcharged to express? 

She weeps not, yet often and deeply 

she sighs: 
She never complains, but her silence 
implies 
The composure of settled distress. 

No aid, no compassion the maniac will 

seek; 
Cold and hunger awake not her care; 
Through her rags do the winds of the 

winter blow bleak 



On her poor withered bosom half bare, 
and her cheek 
Has the deathly pale hue of despair. 

Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the 
day, 

Poor Mary the mauiac has been; 
The traveler remembers, who journey- 
ed this way, 
No damsel so lovely, no' damsel so gay. 

As Mary, the maid of the inn. 

Her cheerful address filled the guests 
with delight, 
As she welcomed them in with a smiley 
Her heart was a stranger to childish 

affright, 
And Mary would walk by the abbey at 
night, 
When the wind whistled down the 
dark aisle. 

She loved; and young Richard had 
settled the day, 
And she hoped to be happy for life; 
But Richard was idle and worthless,. 

and they 
Who knew him would pity poor Mary, 
and say 
That she was to good for his wife. 

'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark 
Avas the night, 
And fast were the windows and door; 
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that 

burnt bright, 
And smoking in silence with tranquil 
delight 
They listened to hear the wind roar. 

'"Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by 
the fireside 
To hear the wind whistle without.'' 
'A fine night for the abbey!" his com- 

rade replied; 
"Methinks a man's courage would now 
be w r ell tried 
Who should wander the ruins about. 

"I myself, like a school-boy, would 
tremble to hear 
The hoarse ivy shake over my head; 
And could fancy I saw, half persuaded 
by fear, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



77 



•Sonic ugly olil abbot's grim spirit 
appear,— 
For this wind might awaken the dead!" 

'Til wager ;i dinner," the other one 
cried, 
"That Mary would venture there 
now." 
'•Then wager, and lose!" with a sneer 

he replied; 
'I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her 
side, 
And faint if she saw a white cow." 

"Will wary this charge on her courage 
allow V" 
His companion exclaimed with a 
smile; 
*'I shall win, — for I know she will ven- 
ture there now. 
And earn a new bonnet by bringing a 
bough 
From the elder that grows in the aisle." 

With fearless good humor did Mary 
comply, 
And her w r ay to the abbey she bent; 
The night it was dark, and the wind it 

was high, 
And as hollowly howling it swept 
through the sky 
She shivered with cold as she went. 

O'er the path so well known still pro- 
ceeded the maid, 
Where the abbey rose dim on the 
sight. 

Through the gateway she entered, she 
felt not afraid; 

Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and 
their shade 
Seemed to deepen the gloom of the 
night. 

All around her was silent, save when 
the rude blast 
Howled dismally round the old pile; 
Over weed-covered fragments still fear- 
less she pass'd, 
And arrived at the innermost ruin at 
last, 
Where the elder-tree grew in the aisle. 

Well pleased did she reach it, and 
quickly drew near, 



And hastily gathered the bough; 
When the sound of a voice seemed to 

rise on her ear: 
She paused, and she listened,- all eager 
to hear, 
And her heart panted painfully now. 

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook 
over her head, — 
She listened, — naught else could she 
hear. 
The wind ceased; her heart sunk in her 

bosom with dread, 
For she heard in the ruins distinctly 
the tread 
Of footsteps approaching her near. 

Behind a wide column, half breathless 
with fear, 
She crept to conceal herself there, 
That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud 

shone clear, 
And she saw in the moonlight two 
ruffians appear, 
And between them a corpse did they 
bear. 

Then Mary could feel her heart-blood 
curdle cold; 
Again the rough wind hurried by, — 
It blew off' the hat of the one, and be- 
hold! 
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it 
rolled; — 
She fell and, expected to die. 

"Curse the Hat!" he exclaimed. 'Nay, 
come on till we hide 
"The dead body," his comrade replies. 
She beholds them in safety pass on by 

her side, 
She seizes the hat, fear her coinage 
supplied, 
And fast through the abbey she Hies. 
She ran with wild speed, she rushed in 
at the door, 
She gazed in her terror around, 
Then her limbs could support their 

faint burden n > in >re, 
And exhausted and breathless she sunk 
on the floor, 
Unable to utter a sound. 






Olmstead's Recitations. 



Thus closed the life 
Of Samuel Jones, kuown as "Number 

Ten" 
On his Ticket-of-Leave, and of all the 

men 
la the Western Colony, bond or tiee, 
None had manlier heart or hand than 

he. 

In diggiug a sawpit — while all alone, 

For his mate was sleeping— Sam struck 
a stone 

With the K^]ge of his spade and it gleam- 
ed like tire, 

And looked at Sam from its bed in the 
mire, 

Till he dropped the spade and stooped 
and raised 

The wonderful stone that glittered and 
blazed 

As if it were mad at the spade's rude 
blow; 

But its blaze set the sawyer's heart 
agio vt, 

As he looked and trembled, then turn- 
ed him round, . 

And crept from the pit, and lay on the 
grouud, 

Looking over the mould heap at tha 
camp 

Where his mate still slept; then down 
to the swamp 

He ran with the stone, and Avashed it 
bright. 

And felt like a drunken man at the 
sight 

Of a diamond pure as spring-water and 
sun, 

And larger than ever man's eyes look- 
ed on! 

Then down sat Sam with the stoue on 

his knees, 
And fancies came to him like swarms 

of bees 
To a sugar-creamed hive, aud he 

dreamed awake 
Of the carriage and four in which he'd 

take 
His pals from the Dials to Drury Lane, 
The silks and the satins for SusanJane, 



Ere yet lier pale lips could the story 

impart, 
For a moment the hat met her view;— 
Her eyes from that object convulsively 

start, 
Fur— O God! what cold horror then 
thrilled through her heart 
When the name of her Richard she 
knew! 

•Where the old abbey stands on the 
common hard by. 
His gibbet is now to be seen; 
Its irons you still from the road may 

espy, 
The traveler beholds them, and thinks 
with a sigh 
Of poor Mary, the maid of the inn. 



The Monster Diamond- 
J. Boyle O'Eeill^ . 

A TALE OE TEE PENAL COLONY OE 
WEST AUSTRALIA. 

"I'll have it,! Curse you — there!" 
The long knife glittered, was sheathed,. 

was bare. 
The sawyer staggered, and tripped and 

fell, 
And falling, he uttered a frightened 

yell; 
His face to the sky, he shuddered and 

gasped, 
And tried to put from him the man he 

had grasped 
A moment before in the terrible strife. 
"I'll have it I tell you, or have your 

life! 
"Where is it?" The sawyer grew weak. 

but still 
His brown face gleamed with a desper- 
ate will. 
"Where is it? 1 ' he heard, and the red 

knife's drip 
In his slaver's hand, fell down on his 

ii P : 

•'Will you give ifr" "Never!" A curse, 

the knife 
Was raised and buried. 



Transp^-- um:iS ' 



Olmstead's Recitations. y<j 

The countless buttles of brandy and To part from the terrible company 

beer Of that gray-blue face and the blaed- 

He'd call for ;ind pay for, and every ing breast, 

year And the staring eyes in their awful 

The dinner he'd give to the Hriinuna- rest. 

gem lads; The evening closed ou the homicide, 

He'd be king among cracksmen and And the blood of the buried sawyer 

chief among pad's, cried 

And he'd sport — Through the night to God, and the 

Over him stooped his mate, shadows dark 

A pick in his hand, and his face all hate. That crossed the camp had the stiff and 

Sam saw the shadDvv, and guessed the stark 

pick, And horrible look of h murdered man. 

And closed his dream with a spring so -,-. , , . • , ,, ,. , • , . 

1 to J hen he pi. en the lire, and crept within 

The ring of its light that closed him in 



And the sawyer mates stood face to 

The white face set. in the frame of nigrht, 



The purpose was baffled of Aaron Mace, 1 , ' . t ... ,. .. . ,. 

1 F Evermore twas with him, that disma 
And the sawyer mates stood lace 

face. 

Sam folded his arms across his chest, 

, . ' He wander- 'd away from the spot, but 

Having thrust the stone in his loose found 

shirt-breast, No inch of the West Australian ground 

Y\ hile he tried to think where he drop- Where he c(mld hide from the bleedi 
ped the spade; breast, 

But Aaron Mace wore a long, keen a.v„i.u,m! ^ • 1 1 

°' Or sink his head in a dreamless rest. 

blade A , i .., , • , , .. 

_ , , . , And always with him he bore the prize 

In us belt; he drew it, sprang on his T . , . , . . ., . . 

' ^ b In a pouch ot leather; the staring ayvs 

___, , , Might turn his soul, but the diamond's 

What happened you read when the tale , 

1 L J gleam 

, e S an - Was solace and joy for the haunted 
Then he looked — the murderer, Aaron i««««. 

ui earn. 

Mace — 

At the gray-blue lines in the dead So yeare rolled on, while the murderer's 
man's face; mind 

And he turned away, for he feared his WdS bent OQ a futile quest,— to find 

frown -A- way of escape fiom the blood-stained 
More in death than life. Then he knelt soil 

him down, Aud the terrible wear of the penal toil. 

Not to pray— but he shrank from the Bat this was a P art ° £ the diamond's 

staring eyes, curse,— 

And felt in his breast for the fatal prize. The toil that was heavy before grew 
And this was the man, and this was worse, 

the way Till the panting wretch, in his tierce uu- 

That he took the stone on its natal day; rest > 

And for this he was cursed forevermore Would clutch the pouch as it lay on his 

By the West Australian Koh-i-noor, breast, 

T ,,•,-, . , And waking, cower, with :-ob aud 

In the half-dug pit the corpse was 

, ° r ' moan, 

thrown, ,v , . , ... . ., 

. . , Or shriek wild curses against tl e stone 

And the murderer stood in the camp rp, . , , .• , »^„ij 

1 That was only a stone, — lor 1 e could 
alone. . .. 

not sell, 
Alone V 2m o, no; never more was he 



So 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



And he dared not break, and he feared And were seared at night when they 

to tell saw he prayed 

Of his wealth; so he bore it through To the white man's God; and one wild 

hopes and fears — night 

His God and his devil,— for years and They had heard his voice till the morn- 
years, ing light. 

And thus did he draw near the end of Years passed, and a sandalwood-cutter 

his race. stood 

With a form bent double and horror- At a ruined hut in a Kojunup wood. 

lined face, The rank weeds covered the desolate 

Aud a piteous look, as if asking for floor, * 

giace An ant-hill stood by 4 he fallen door, 

Or for kindness from some one; but no The cupboard within to the snakes was 

kind word loot, 

Was flung to his misery: shuuned, ab- And the hearth was the home of the 

horred, bandicoot. 

Even by wretches themselves, till his But neither at hut, nor snake, nor rat, 

life was a curse, Was the woodcutter staring intent, but 

And he thought that e'en death could at 

bring nothing worse A human skeleton, clad in gray, 

Than the phantoms that stirred at the The hands clasped over the breast, as 

diamond's weight, — they 

His own life's ghost and the ghost o f his Had fallen in peace when he ceased to 

mate. - pray. 

So he turned one day from the haunts As the bushman looked on the form, he 

of men, saw 

And their friendless faces; an old man In the breast a paper; he stooped to 

then draw 

In a convict's garb, with white flowing What might tell him the story, but at 

hair, his touch 

And a brow deep scared with the word, From under the hand rolled a leathern 

"Despair."' pouch. 

He gazed not back as his way he took And he raised it, too. On the paper s 



To the untrod forest; and oh! the look. 
The piteous look in his sunken eyes 
Told that life was the bitterest sacrifice. 

But little was heard of his later days; 
Twas deemed in the West that in 

change of ways 
He tried with his tears to wash out his 

sin. 
'Tu as told by some natives who once 

came in 
From the Kojunup Hills, that lonely 

there 
They saw a figure with long white hair; 



face 

He read, '-Ticket-of-Leave of Aaron 
Mace." 

He opened the pouch, aud in dazed sur- 
prise 

At its contents strange he unblessed his 
eyes — 

*Twas a lump of quartz,* pounds weight 
in full, 

And it fell from his hand on the skele- 
ton's skull. 



Lasca. 



They camped close by where his hut I want free life and I want fresh air: 



was made. 



And 1 sigh for the canter after the cat- 



lie 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



81 



The crack of the whips like shots in a 

battle, 
The medley of horns and hoofs and heads 
That wars and wrangles and scatters 

and spreads; 
The given beneath and the bine above, 
And dash and danger, and life and love. 

And Lasca! 

Lasca used to ride 
On a mouse-gray mustang close to my 

side, 
With blue serape and bright-belled spur; 
I laughed with joy as I looked at her! 
Little knew she of books or of creeds; 
An Ave Maria sufficed her needs; 
Little she cared, save to be by my side, 
To ride with me, and ever to ride, 
From San Saba's shore to Lavaca's tide. 
She was as bold as the billows that beat 
She was as wild as the breezes that 

blow; 
From her little head to her little feet 
She was swa3 r ed in her suppleness to 

and fro 
By each gust of passion; a sapling pine, 
That grows on the edge of a Kansas 

bluff, 
And wars with the wind when the wea- 

er is rough, 
Is like this Lasca, this love of mine. 
She would hunger that I might eat, 
Would take the bitter and leave me the 

sweet; 
But once when I made her jealous for 

fun, 
At something I whispered, or looked, or 

done, 
One Sunday, in San Antonio, 
To a glorious girl on the Alamo, 

She drew from her garter a dear little 
dagger, 

And— sting of a wasp!— it made me 
stagger! 

An inch to the left or an inch to the 
right, 

And I shouldn't be maundering here to- 
night; 

But she sobbed, and, sobbing, swiftly 
bound 



Her torn reboso about the wound, 
That I quite forgave her. Scratches 

don't count 
In Texas, down by the Rio Grande. 

Her eye was brown — a deep, deep 

brown; 
Her hair was darker than her eye; 
And something in her smile and frown, 
Curled crimson lip and instep high, 
Showed that there ran in each blue 

vein, 

Mixed with the milder Aztec strain, 

The vigorous vintage of old Spain. 

She was alive in every limb 

With feeling, to the finger-tips; 

And w hen the sun is like a tire, 

And sky one shining, soft sapphire, 

One does not drink in little sips. 
* * * * * * * 

The air was heavy, the night was ho t, 

I sat by her side and forgot — forgot; 

Forgot the herd that w r ere taking rest, 

Forgot that the air was close opprest, 

That the Texas norther comes sudden 
and soon, 

In the dead of night or the blaze of 
noon; 

That once let the herd at its breath take 
fright, 

Nothing on earth can stop the flight; 

And woe to the rider, and woe to the 
steed, 

Who falls in front of their mad stam- 
pede! 
******* 

Was that thunder? I grasped the cord 
Of my s /rift mustang without a word. 
I sprang to the saddle, and she clung 

behind. 
Away! on a hot chase down the wind! 
But never was fox-hunt half so hard, 
And never was steed so little spared. 
For we rode for our lives. You shall 
hear how we fared 
In Texas, down by the Rio Grande, 
The mustang Hew. and we urged him 

on; 
There was one chance left, and you 
have but one; 



82 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Halt, jump to the ground, and shoot 
your horse; 

Crouch under his carcass, and take 
your chance; 

Aud if the steers in their frantic course 

Don't batter you both to pieces at once, 

You may thank your stars; if not, good- 
bye 

To the quickening kiss aud the long- 
drawn sigh, 

And the open air and the open sky. 

In Texas, down by the Rio Grande! 

The cattle gained on us, and, just as I 

felt 
For my old six-shooter behind in my 

belt, 
Down came the mustang, and down 

came we, 
Clinging together, and — what was the 

rest? 
A bod^y that spread itself on my breast. 
Two arms that shield ury dizzy head, 
Two lips that hard on my lips were 

prest; 
Then came thunder in my ears, 
As over us surged the sea of steers, 
Blows that beat blood into my eyes, 
And when I could rise — , 
Lasca was dead! 

* * * * # # * 

I gouged out a grave a few feet deep, 
And there in Earth's arms I laid her to 

sleep; 
And there she is lying, and no one 

knows, 
And the summer shines and the winter 

snows; 
For niany a day the flowers have spread 
A pall of petals over her head; 
And the little gray hawk hangs aloft in 

the air, 
And the sly coyote trots here and there, 
And the black snake glides and glitters 

and slides 
Into a rift in a cotton-wood tree; 
And the buzzard sails on, 
And it comes and is gone, 
Stately aud still like a ship at sea; 
And I wonder whv I do not care 



For the things that are like the things 

that were. 
Does half my heart lie buried there 

In Texas, down by the Rio Grande? 
Frank Despkez. 



Kit Carson's Eide. 

Run? Now you bet you; I rather guess 

so. 
But he's blind as a badger. Whoa, 

Pache, boy, whoa, 
No, you wouldn't think so to look at 

his eyes, 
But he is badger blind, and it happened 

this wise: 

We lay low in the grass on the broad 

plain levels. 
Old Revels and I, and my stolen brown 

bride. 
"Forty full miles if a foot to ride, 
Forty full miles if a foot, and the devils 
Of red Camanches are hot on the track- 
When once they strike it. Let the sun 

go down 
Soon, very soon," muttered bearded 

old Revels, 
As he peered at the sun lying low on, 

his back, 
Holding fast to his lasso; then he jerked 

at his steed, 
And sprang to his feet, and glanced 

swiftly around, 
And then dropped as if shot, wiih his 

ear to the ground — 
Then again to his feet and to me, to my 

bride, 
While his eyes were like lire, his face 

like a shroud, 
His form like a king, and his beard like 

a cloud, 
And his voice loud and shrill, as if 

blown from a reed — 
"Pull, pull in your lassos, aud bridled 

to steed, 
And speed, if ever for life you would 

speed; 
And ride for your lives, for your lives 
you must ride, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 83 

For the plain is aflame, the prairie on Not a word, not a wail from ;t lip was lit 

tire; fall. 

And feetof wild horses hard flying be- Not a kiss from 1113- bride, not a look 

fore, or low call 

I hew like a sea breaking high on the Of love-note or courage, but on o'er the 

shore; plain 

While the buffalo come like the surge Of So steady and still, leaning low to 

the sea, the mane, 

Driven far by the flame, driven fast on With the heel to the Hank and the hand 

us three to the rein, 

As a hurricane comes, crushing palms Rode we on, rode we three, rode we 

in his ire." nose and gray nose, 

„ T , . , . .. , Reaching long, breathing loud, like a 

We drew m the lasso, seized saddle ami ° . °' . ° 

creviced wind blows; 

_. ' . , , .. . , Yet we broke not a whisper, we 

Threw them on, sinched them on, sinch- . ., . 

. . . breathed not a prayer, 

ed them over again, _, . r , . 

. , . iL . ' ., There was work to be done, there was 

And again drew the girth, cast aside , -.». ., 

& , . & > death in the air, 

the macheer, A , .. , . ., 

. . . , . . And the chance was as one to a thous- 

Cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash , „ „ 

. * . -•,, and for all. 

from its fold, 

Cast aside the catenas red and spang- Gray nose to gray nose and each steady 

led with gold, mustang 

And gold -mounted Colt's, true com pan- Stretched neck and stretched nerve 

ions for years; till the arid earth rang, 

Cast the silken serapes to the wind in a And the foam from the flank and the 

breath, croup and the neck 

And so bared to the skin sprang all Flew around like the spray on a 

haste to the horse, storm-driven deck. 

As bare as when born, as when new Twenty miles! thirty miles! — a dim dis- 

from the hand tant speck — 

Of God, without word, or one word of Then a long reaching line, and the 

command, Brazos in sight, 

Turned head to the Brazos in a red race And I rose in my seat with a shout of* 

with death, delight, 

Turned head to the Brazos with a breath I stood in my stirrup and looked to 

in the hair my right, 

Blowing hot from a king leaving death But Revels was gone; I glanced by my 

in his course; shoulder 

Turned head to the Brazos with a sound And saw his horse stagger; I saw his 

in the air head drooping 

Like the rush of an army, and a flash in Hard on his breast, and his naked 

thee3e breast stooping 

Of a red wall of tire reaching up to the Low down to the mane as so swifter 

sky, and bolder 

Stretching tierce in pursuit of a black Ran reaching out for us the red-footed 

rolling sea fire. 

Rushing fast upon us as thevviud sweep- To right and to left the black buffalo 

ing free came, 

And afar, from the desert, blew hoi- A terrible surf on a red sea of flame 

low and hoarse. 



#4 Olmstead's Recitations. 

Rushing on in the rear, reaching high. In a race where the world came to run 

reaching higher; for the crown; 

And he rode neck to neck to a buffalo And so when I won the true heart of 

bull, my bride— 

The monarch of millions, with shaggy My neighbor's and deadliest enemy's 

mane full child, 

Of smoke and of dust, and it shook with And child of the kingly war-chief of 

desire his tribe— 

Of battle, with rage and with billow- She brought me this steed to the bord- 

ings loud er the night 

And unearthly, and up through its low- She met Revels and me in her peril- 

ering cloud ous flight 

Came the flash of his eyes like a half- From the lodge of the chief to the north 

hidden fire, Brazos >idf, 

While his keen crooked horns through And said, so half guessing of ill as she 

the storm of his mane smiled. 

Like black lances lifted and lifted As if jesting, that I. and I only, should 

again; ride 

And I looked but this once, for the fire The fleet-footed Pache. so if kin should 

licked through, pursue 

And he fell and was lost, as we rode I should surely escape without other 

two and two. ado 



I looked to mv left, then, and nose. 



Than to ride, without blood, to the 



north Brazos side, 

neck, and shoulder . , . . , .. _.,, .. . 

, , ' , . And await her. and wait till the next 



Sank slowly, sank surely, till back to 



hollow moon 



. , 1, .*. tt t ,i • ., Hung her horn in the palms, when 

And up through the black blowing vail 

of her hair 



Did beam full in mine her two mar- 
velous eyes 
With a longing and love, yet a look of 



surely and soon 
And swift she would join me. and all 

would be well 
Without bloodshed or word. And now, 

as she fell 



, . ' . . . . From the front, and went down in the 

And a pitv for me, as she felt the . ~ 

\ . . , , ocean of fire. 



smoke fold her, 



. . The last that I saw was a look of delight 

And flames leaching far for her glor- „, r . ,, , . . 

. . B & That I should escape — a love— a desire — 



ious hair. 



... ... let never a word, not a look ot appeal. 

Her sinking steed faltered, his eager _ T . ., , . , , ,» . 

!t ft Lest I should reach hand, should stay 

In nn ot* ^1"3\7' IippI 

To and fro and unsteadilv. and all the ,„ , . ., , ,,. ,. 

One instant for her mmv terrible flight, 
neck s swell 

Did subside and recede and the Then the rushing of tire around me and 
nerves fall as dead. under, 

Then she saw sturdy Pache still lorded And the howling of beasts and a sound 
his head, as of thunder— 

With a look of delight, for this Pache. Beasts burning and blind and forced 
you - onward and over. 

Was her father's, and once at the South As the passionate flame reached around 
Santa Fe them and wove her 

Had won a whole herd, sweeping Hands in their hair, and kissed hot till 
everything down they died — 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



8S 



Till they died with a wild and a desolate 

moan, 
As a Bea heart-broken on the hard 

brown stone. 
And into the Brazos— I rode all alone — 
All alone, save only a horse Long-limbed, 
Aucl blind and bare and burnt to the 

skin. 
Then, just as the terrible sea came in 
And tumbled its thousands hot into 

the tide, 
Till the tide blocked up and the swift 

stream brimmed 
In eddies, we struck on the opposite 

side. 

Sell Pache,— blind Pache? Now, mister 

look here, 
You have slept in my tent and partook 

of my cheer 
Many days, many days on this rugged 

frontier, 
For the ways they were rough and 

Cam an eh es were near 
But you'd better pack up, sir! that tent 

is to small 
For us two after this! has an old moun- 
taineer, 
Do you bookmen believe, gotnotum- 

tum at all? 
Sell Pache? You buy him! A bag full 

of gold! 
You show him! Tell of him the tale I 

have told! 
Why, he bore me through lire, and is 

blind, and is old! 
Now pack up your papers and get. up 

and spin, 
And never look back. Blast you and 

your tin! 

Joaquin Miller. 



The Bell of Zanora- 
The ruddy sun was setting behind the 

Murchian hills, 
The fields were warmed to splendor 

and golden flowed the rills. 
Across the little valley where lay the 

Spanish town 
The dying sun's last blessing, a glory, 
floated down. 



Amid the fields the peasant led in the 

grazing kine, 
And faintly came a tinkling as trudged 

the peaceful Line. 
Upon the height the convent, a ruin old 

and gray, 
Towered upward, and its shadow across 

the valley lay. 
Before that ancient ruin, prone on the 

scented grass. 
A boy of fifteen summers watched day's 

bright glory pass: 
The lad was there on duty and oft about 

him scanned. 
Zanora feared the coming of robbe r 

Gomez's band; 
Of Gomez, fierce and heartless, the 

terror of the vale, 
Whose name made women shudder and 

bravest men grow pale. 
Unto the town a rumor that Gomez 

fierce would come 
And sack the peaceful hamlet made 

stoutest hearts all dumb. 
The peasants cleaned their firelocks, 

the women watched and prayed, 
That the band of robber Gomez upon 

its pg,th be stayed. 
Yet time wore on, and scathless still 

stood the little town, 
But from iis ancient convent a watcher 

still looked down. 
For clear from 'neath its portals each 

roadway might be scanned, 
And there from morn till night they 

watched for Gomez's band. 
The old bell of the convent within its 

tower still hung, 
It's rope with dangling curves- seemed 

waiting to be rung, 
For if a sight of Gomez came to the 

watcher there, 
He straight would let the old bell with 

warning fill the air, 
Unto the town a signal to rally fast and 

stand, 
And, ready for the onslaught, beat back 

the robber band, 
This day was Rooe watcher until the 

sun hung low, 



86 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



And then, with watching wearied, he 

lay and gazed below. 
He watched the smoke, that floated 

above his mother's cot. 
To him the grazing cattle, seemed each 

a moving dot. 
Faint from the bustling village, came 

murmurs low a id deep; 
The bells far off did tinkle; the lad was 

fast asleep. 
Asleep he lay. but not for long— he woke 

a gri nmy hand — 
Pressed his mouth: Hi, Prists were 

bound! Around him Gomez's 

band! 
They dragged him to the convent; cried 

Gomez, "Rope this fool:" 
Then 'neath the rope they placed him. 

kneeling on a stool. 
Around his neck, so slender, the snaky 

bell. rope's fold 
They fastened. Then cried Gomez, 

"That bell won't soon be tolled: 
Come, on, lads, there's work below; 

this fool ain't to be hung, 
By the saints: vet hang he will before 

that bell is rung:" 
The robbers laughed, and vanished and 

Rooe was left alone 
With one thought ever stinging — he 

must his fault atone. 
The rope his throat was galling, his 

corded wrists were numb, 
Poor Rooe's burning thoughts alone 

could freely go and come. 
The helpless souls, the bell above, the 

black band creeping down. 
Over his brow the drops rolled fast — he 

must arouse the town: 
That rope he well remembered, bis 

^ngrh had often tried, 
And all his weight to move it, he knew 

must be applied. 
He thought of home and mother, of Car- 
men, sweet and fair, 
Then, with one sob of anguish, he sprang 

into the air: 
***** 

The robber band was creeping down 
the steep incline 



With chieftain Gomez leading the dark, 

exulting line. 
"They're ours," the bandit chuckled, 

"it's time to make the charge, 
And then the robbers halted upon the 

hill-top's marge. 
Red Gomez drew his sabre, and then — 

What was that sound"? 
Bom: Bom: The convent tocsin! It 

fairly shook the ground. 
Bom: Bona: Pale grew the robbers, 
yet Gomez cried, -Advance:" 
Too late, the town was rousing, and 

lost the bandit's chance. 
Some scattering snots: The robbers 

fled over the hill-tops crown. 
Bom: tolled the bell yet fainter — saved 

was the little town. 
Straight upward strode the peasants, up 

to the convent tower, 
Before them sways a something — from 

which the bravest cower; 
Bom: clanged the bell yet fainter, and 

with the passing toll 
Its dying sob bore upward the hapless 

Rooe's soul. 
They took him down with wailing, and 

bitter tears were shed, 
For he who saved Zanora, mute as its 

bell — was dead. 

w: E. rose. 



The Duelist's Victory. 

'Twas in the year of battles, the red 

year ninety-three. 
Through an iron ring of foemen France 

was striving to break free. 
And we fought beneath her banners in 

rags aud poorly fed; 
But a man can march to China with 

iron and with bread. 

We were camped upon the frontier 

where the glorious river smiles, 
The Austrian fires before us burned red 

for miles and mi! 
And round a drum-head standing, by a 

single lantern's light, 
Carnot and his staff were planning the 

morrow's furious fight. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



87 



Two officers came to him, young soldiers 

both, but tried; 
"My General, we have quarreled — our 

weapons must decide 
Upon whose side the wrong was, upon 

whose Bide the right. 
Give us leave to try the issue in combat 
here to-night?' 

He sighed and smiled, the General, then 
spake he to the two: 

"The lives that you would venture, do 
they belong to you? 

Wnen against her like wolves are howl- 
ing the vengeful Cossack hordes, 

Should France's sons be goring French 
bosoms with French sword 

"You both have marched together, you 

have fought side by side; 
No need to doubt the courage that has 

so oft been tried. 
But since you need will test it, come 

hither," and he strode 
Forth from the tent and poiuted where 

the Austrian camp fires glowed. 

"To-morrow morn at sunrise we move 

upou the foe; 
At those earthworks in the centre. 

there'll be hot work, I trow. 
I shall place you in the vanguard, and 

in the army's sight 
You can prove which in your quarrel 

was wrong and which was right." 

Up rose the sun next morning, red in a 

stormy sky. 
Fit opening of the day whereon ten 

thousand men should die! 
And all of us were watching— for swift 

the story flew — 
The soldiers who had quarreled, 'mong 

the enfans jwdus. 

At last it came, the signal! The drum- 
mer smote his drum, 

Each duelist bowed coldly and said to 
the other. -Come!" 

We sprang up from the ditches, and as 
we scrambled out 

\Ye saw them dashing down the Held on 
toward the great redoubt. 



And so we followed after, over the 

slippery plain, 
The Austrian bullets, pel ting like hi 

ts of rain, 
And the cannon roaring louder, ami 

mole frequent through the cloud, 
Anil a hundred drummers, rattling the 

pas-de- charge aloud. ■ 

There were two thousand of us, when 

first we scrambled out, • 
Five hundred of us only reached the 

crest of the redoubt, 
And oft as through the clinging smoke 

the cannons flash glared red, 
We could see the two young duelists 

still racing on ahead, 

Then all at once a shock that seemed 

to make the whole world reel, 
Fierce yells, and curses, and deep 

groans, and clang of steel on 

steel, 
And we could see the Austrian flag 

amid a smoky pall, 
Tossing and wavering to and fro like a 

tree about to fall. 

One of the two had seized it — which 
one we never knew — 

Both were hewing at the foemen as 
sturdy woodmen hew. 

Against two men twelve hundred! The 
odds were fa: from just. 

So we dashed in aud backward the strug- 
gling Austrians thrust. 

And long before the foemen took breath 
and could combine 

To shake the wedge the master-hand 
had driven through his line, 

Carnot was hurrying to our help his 
every man and gun. 

And the tight was gained by that re- 
doubt the duelists had won. 

Then said the General, laughing; Which 
was braver of the two?'. 

'•You were!" one officer replied. His 
comrade said; "No — you!" 

"You seized the Austrian standard first! 
'Twas merely mine to save 

Y'our life when vou had torn it down! 



88 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Your bravest ! You're most 

brave!" 
Right gayly laughed the General: "If 

any doubt remain, 
When uext we meet the enemy just test 

the thing again; 
Shake hands!" '.'No need to, General, 

for our hands somehow met 
As Ave plucked this flower from the 

bedge of the Austrian bayonet!" 

GEOHGE T. DANERGAN. 



The Wrecker's Oath on Barnagat. 

HENRY MORFORD. 

On night mid swarthy forms I lay, 
Along a wild southeastern bay. 
Within a cabin rude and rough, 
Formed out of driftwood, wrecker's 

stuff's, 
And firelight throwing rosy flame 
From up-heaped masses of the same, — 
Waiting the turning of the tide 
To launch the surf-boats scattered wide 
And try the fisher's hardy toil 
Foi bass, and other tinny spoil. 

They lay around me young and old, 
But men of hardy mien and mould, 
Whom one had picked some deed to do 
Demanding iron hearts and true, 
But whom one had not picked, if wise, 
For playing tricks to blinded eyes. 
Without expecting at the end, 
To learn the odds 'twixt foe and friend! 

Some leaned upon their arms, and 

slept; 
But others wakeful vigil kept, 
And told short stories, — merry, half, 
And some too earnest for a laugh. 
And I— I listened, as I might, 
With strange and weird and wild de- 
light, 
To hear the surf men, in their haunt, 
On deeds and loves and haunts descant. 

One gray old man, of whom I heard 
No more than this descriptive word, 
"Old Kennedy," — he rattled on, 
Of men and things long past and' gone, 
And seemed without one careful 
thought, — 



Till spark or tinder some one brought 
By hinting that he launched no more, 
Of late, his surf-boat from the shore, 
However wind and storm were rife 
Anil stranded vessels periled life. 

"No! by the God who made this tongue!" 
And up in angry force he sprung, — 
"No! never while my head is warm, 
However wild beat sea and storm, 
Launch I a boat one life to save, 
If half creation finds a grave!" 

A fearful oath! — I thought; and so 
Thought others for a murmur low 
Ran round the circle, till, at length, 
The wondering feeling gathered strength 
And some; who had not known him 

long, 
Declared them words of cruel wrong, 
And swore to keep no friendly troth 
With one who framed so hard an oath, 

"You will not mates?" the old man 

said, 
His words so earnest, dense, and dread 
That something down my back ran cold 
As at the ghostly tales of old. 
"You will not? Listen then a word! 
And if, when you have fairly heard, 
You say a thoughtless oath I swore, 
I never fish beside you more!" 

They listened -.so did I, be sure, 

As Desdemona to her Moor, 

Or that poor "wedding guest" who 

heard 
The Ancient Mariner's lengthy word. 
They listened; and no murmur broke 
The full, dead silence, as he spoke. 

"You know me mates, -at least the most 
From Barnegat, on Jersey coast. 
'Tis time you listened something more, 
That drove me to another shore. 

Twelve years ago, at noon of life, 
I had a fond and faithful wife; 
Two children, boy and girl; a patch; 
A drift-wood cabin roofed with thatch: 
And thought myself the happiest man 
The coast had known since time began. 
Ships wrecked; they never saw me 
flinch. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



«y 



But tight the whites rf, inch by inch, 

To save the meanest thing had breath, 

If danger seemed to threaten death. 

Yes, — more! I never once held back, 

If through the big storm, rushing black, 

Some nabob's riches I could save 

And give them to him from the wave. 

One night a large ship drove ashore, 

Not half a mile beyond my door. 

I saw the white surf breaking far; 

I saw her beating on the bar; 

I knew she could not live one hour, 

By wood and iron's strongest power. 

I was alone, except my boy, — 

Sixteen. — my wife's best hope and joy; 

And who can doubt, that is not mad, 

He was the proudest pride I had! 

I let him take the vacant oar; 

I took him with me from the shore; 

I let him try help save a life: 

I drowned him, and it killed my wife!" 

The old man paused, and dashed his 

hand 
Against his brow, to gain command; 
While all around, a hush like death 
Hung on the fisher's trembling breath. 
And pitying eyes began to show 
How rough men feel a rough man's 

woe. 
Then he went on, — a few words more, 
That still au added horror bore. 

"Somebod} 7 stole a cask or bale, — 
At least so ran the pleasant tale. 
And Avhile my boy was lying dead, 
My wife's last breath as yet untied, 
The city papers reeked with chat 
Of 'pirate bands on Barnegat.' 
My name was branded as a thief, 
When I was almost mad with grief; 
And what d'ye think they made me feel, 
When the last falsehood ground its heel, 
'I had rowed out, that night, to steal!' 
No! if I ever row again, 
To save the lives of periled men, 
Body and soul at once go down, 
And Heaven forget me as I drown!" 

It was a direful oath, as well 

When nothing more remained to tell, 

As it had been, when at the first 



His wrong ami hate the old man nursed. 
But I have often thought, .Vuice then, 
The best of men arc only men, 
And some of us, at church and school, 
Who prattle Of the Golden Rule, — 
Might find it hard, such weight to bear 
Of shame and outrage and despair, 
Without forgetting trust ami troth 
And hurliujr out as dread an oath. 



Hancock at Gettysburg. 

PUBLISHED BY PERMISSION OF AUTHOR. 



Respectfully Dedicated to the 2d Army 
Corps. 



BY COMRADE SHERMAN D. RICHARDSON, 

Come spirit of the sacred past! . 

Draw back thy curtain dark with 
years, 
Reveal with all the art thou hast, 
Those scenes, that now, the world 
reveres; 
Where Liberty had second birth. 

'Mid passion deep and bitter pain; 
Where bondage fled, unwept, from earth. 
And Right resumed her reign again. 
******* 

Twice hath the sun, blood-red, gone 

down, 
Thrice hath appeared the morn's red 

frown 
O'er Gettysburg, of valleys green r 
Of wooded slope in summer sheen,, 
Of broken spur and rocky steep, 
Of dark ravine with chasm deep, 
A field, whose dedicated sod, 
Shall bloom for aye, for Truth and God v 

O'er Gettysburg, where chains of men 
Adorn each hill and ragged glen, 
Where guns in boulder settings wait 
And rifles fringe her robes of state; 
Where dead and dyiug. Blue and Gray 
Mark well where rolled the bitter fray; 
Where side by side the Gray and Blue 
Shall wait in peace, the Grand Review 

Away, against the Southern sky, 
The "Round Tops" rear their summits 
high, 



90 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



There Sykea still holds the frowning 

stoop 
That Vincent gave his life to keep; 
There dashing Wood and Hazlett true, 
With young O'Rourke, led charging 

Blue, 
Until they turned that surging tide — 
McLaws' Invincibles" — and died. 

Across the holds the scalloped lines 
Of Wright are massed in quaint designs, 
While trusty Wheaton guards the gate; 
Upon which hangs an army's fate! 
The jagged rocks of "Devil's Den" 
Are garrisoned with lifeless men; 
And 'mid the "Orchards" far away, 
Lies silent ranks, in Blue and Gray. 

Brave Birney's line, his flags reveal 
Amid the flashing waves of steel; 
While Doubleday's artillery roar, 
Like breakers o»n this red sea-shore. 
Rolls past to yonder circling slope, 
Where Howard, brave, and Slocum 

cope 
With fearless Ewell, till he reels 
In shattered ranks, across the fields. 

Well has been placed one valiant chief 
Rich glory gilds the "Clover leaf," 
Upon the flags are Chancellorsville, 
Antietam, Yorktown, Malvern Hill, 
At Williamsburg he earned his name; — 
At Fredericksburg he garnered fame: 
Yet brighter stars will now be won 
Upon this field, ere set of sun. 

From where yon seething sea of gray 
Hath ebbed and flown the livelong day, 
There soon will roll, in billows great, 
A flood, impelled by bitter hate. 
See! now. amid the trees, its foam! 
Its mist hath darkened heaven's dome, 
The air i.« tilled with gathering gloom — 
The dread of an impending doom. 

The storm! The storm! Two hundred 

shell 
Comes shrieking from a belching hell! 
Above, below, around and past, 
Each blast infernal, follows blast, 
The tempest thickeus, ! — From its roar, 
Like thunder-bolts, the missels pour, 



The battle smoke doth all enshroud 
And death rides fast upon the cloud. 

"Down, down, each man!" The brave 

grow pale! 
They who have laughed at leaden hail! 
The works are piled with mangleddead: 
The trenches with hot blood are red. 
The right are wavering! Oh. what cost! 
If it give way, the day is lost! 
Then lost our nation! — God! draw nigh 
And nerve each heart to stay and — die. 

The prayer is answered! Thro' the 

storm 
Of bursting shell, there rides a form, 
With face, as calm, and nerves as true, 
As though he led some grand review. 
He passes slowly down the line; 
All hearts grow brave, as tear drops 

shine, 
The hero chief, 'mid dangers dire, 
Is now baptized with battle fire, 

Ride, chieftain, ride! Thy path hath 

led, 
Where soon will heap the foemen dead! 
Ride, chieftain ride! Thy life is charm- 
ed 
And now, thy soldiers, doubly armed, 
Will meet yon madmen's deadly shock, 
As if just hewn from grauite rock. 
And send then whirling 'cross the plain, 
Bereft of power to charge again. 

Form, Picket, form! Your soul of tire 
To-day shall quaff its full desire; 
Storm down the lines! O, Garnett! 

You 
Shall lead to death with Armstead true, 
And Kemper ready for the fray. 
Remember, Lee commands to-day 
And, gray haired chief! count well the 

cost, 
If Gettysburg to you is lost. 

Oh, grand the sight! From out the 

West 
An army marches breast to breast; 
Like sunset glow, their banners stream; 
Like noonday sheen, their bayonet 

glean; 
They move with silent, solemn tread, 






Olmstead's Recitations. 



9i 



To where their glory waits ahead; 
A power magnificent and great, 
Whose eagles bear a nation's fate. 

They come! they, come! with frenzied 

yell! 
They come, where sweep the shot and 

shell! 
They charge, to meet the deadly hail, 
The bayonets clash, the scrap n ell's wail! 
"Hold fast the gun! Tho' hell shall 

form 
To take this hill, and devils storm! 
Hold fast the wall! They can't prevail! 
But curses on you if you fail!" 
Like God of War, he rides the field; 
His sword of battle, now revealed, 
Like lightning Hashes in the west, 
Is everywhere along the crest; 
As, drunk with blood and fiendish ire, 
They swarm within our lines of fire, 
An army charges, brave and true — 
A mob of men rolls back from view. 

The spell is o'er! The battle's wrought; 

The chieftain falls,where well he fought! 

His blood the glorious triumph seals! 

The "Clover leaf" again reveals 

Its undimmed fame. The day is won! 

No grander victory 'neath the sun! 

And generations, far away, 

Will tell how Hancock saved the day. 

Copyrighted by Sherman D. Richardson, 

Rochester, N. Y. 



Sheridan at Stone River. 

PUBLISHED BY PERMISSION OF THE 

AUTHOR. 

DEDICATED TO THE AKMY OF THE 

CUMBERLAND. 

Four miles of Blue and four miles of 

Gray, 
The battle watch stand at the dawn of 

the day: 
The fog lies in banks over river and 

plain, 
No reveille sounding, no bugle refrain. 
The silence of death holds its spell o'er 

the fields, 
Save the low muffled sound of artillery 

wheels; 



Or the deep, solemn tread of columns 

of men 
As they march to their stations by 

thicket and glen. 

Four miles of guns pointing east at the 

foe; 
Four miles of Hags like the dawn's kind- 
ling glow; 
Four miles of steel that is gleaming with 

death; 
Four miles of veterans that scarcely 

draw breath, 
Imbued with a spirit sublime ss the 

hour; 
Inspired with a courage resistless in 

power; 
A battle front grand 'neath heaven's 

high doom 
Guarding the gateway of Northland and 

home. 

Like a statue of stone in the morning's 

gray light 
"Little Phil" and his steed wait the 

sound of the fight. 
Tho' his heart throbs impatient, his face 

shows no sign, 
Save the swift sweeping glance down 

the dim silent line. 
Tis the calm of the master, but deep in 

his breast 
A cyclone is sleeping in ever unrest, 
That with fury will rouse at the first 

signal gun, 
Unrestrained as the lightning till the 

battle is done. 

One by one the stars vanish as upward 

on high 
The blush of the morning makes crim- 

ton the sky, 
From out of the brake the awakening 

breeze 
Just moves the cloud banks hanging 

low mid the trees: 
'Tis the pause before battle — the halt- 
ing of doom, 
When carnage is crouching to spring 

from the gloom — 
Have pity, O God of the battle, to day 
v\ hen the Blue of the North meet their 

brothers in Gray. 



92 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



But hark! from the sou .h ward the boom 

of a gun, 
With the flash of its fl iiiie tells the 

light Jas begun. 
The muskets' loud rattle, the yell of 

the foe, 
Like blood iu the fog with an infernal 

glow — 
They are eharging our lines — they are 

met hand to hand, 
Tk?y have captured our cannon— no 

power can withstand: 
Brave Davis and Johnsoa are swept 

fr >m the Held, 
The "Pride of the West" to the foeman 

must yield. 

"*' To the foeman must yield? What, 

the boys I have led? 
Repeat but those words and disgrace 

on your head! 
Stand fast every man — it is treason to 

fail! 
We will 1 nigh at the danger tho' hell 

should assail! 
Shot double the guns — swing round the 

right line. 
There is sport in the brake— there is 

fun in the pine! 
See them coming like demons with 

Weathers ahead! 
Aim low boys, and give them a break- 
fast of lead!" 

Ah! bravest of brave those words have 

quick sped 
To the boys where the bullets are heap- 
ing the dead, 
And the Hash of your sword as you ride 

down the line 
Now make their blood boil as if drunken 

with wine. 
But the flash of your eye is an army 

in power, 
And it holds the men there in this 

terrible hour, 
When the bravest of Southland roll up 

a fierce flood 
To break on that headland in billows of 

blood. 



Closer and closer he gathers his men, 
As fiercer and wilder they charge yet 

again. 
The powder is gone, but the steel still 

is bright, 
And he charges them back, like a whirl- 
wind of might! 
But see! there's the signal — thy duty is 

done — 
March back the brave veterans, a hero 

each one. 
The army is saved by the sacrifice 

grand — 
The gateway is closed to the loved 

northern land. 

"Here's ail that is left." What are left 

are but few, 
And they would have died in the battle 

for you. 
The stars they shall fall on thy shoulders 

to-day, 
And the sheen of their glory shall shine 

on for aye. 
Come, Army of Cumberland, roll up a 

cheer, 
Wave flags to the soldier who never 

knew fear! 
Let your cannon speak out, let your 

drums loudly beat 
To brave "Little Phil," who would 

never retreat! 

Sherman D. Richardson, 



The Red Jacket. 

'Tis a cold bleak night! with angry roar 

The north winds beat and clamor at 
the door; 

The drifted snow lies heaped along the 
street, 

Swept by a blinding storm of hail and 
sleet, 

The clouded heavens no guiding star- 
light lend, 

But o'er the earth in gloom and dark- 
ness bend; 

Gigantic shadows, by the night lampa 
thrown, 

Dance their weird revels fitfully alone^ 



Olmstead's Recitations. 93 

Til lofty halls, where fortune takes its Her pale, sweet face against the win- 
east', (low pressed, 

Sunk in the treasures of all lands and While sobs of terror shake her tender 

seas, breast. 

In happy homes, where warmth and And from the crowd beneath, in aceents 

comfort meet, wild, 

The weary traveler with their smiles to A mother screams, "O God! My child! 

greet; My child! 

In lo*ly dwellings, where the needy % ^^ Th h ^ gtar _ 

„ f W!U ™ . ,•„• ,. , tied throng 

Round starving embers, chilling limbs A , , r .-., , 

& h A hardy fireman swiftly moves along; 

hl ,,. ' . Mounts sure and fast along the slender 
Rises the prayer that makes the sad 

. way, 

, ,, ,f . , . . . L . , „ Fearing no danger, dreading but delay. 

"Thank God tor home, this bitter night!" m, ^- , , , , ... 

& The stilling smoke-clouds lower in his 

But hark! above the beating of the path, 

storm Sharp tongues of flame assail him in 

Peals on the startled ear the tire alarm! their wrath; 

Yon gloomy heaven's aflame with sud- But up, still up he goes! the goal is 

den light, won! 

And heart-beats quicken with a strange His strong arm beats fche sash> and he is 

affright; gone! 

From tranquil slumber springs at duty's 

ca |] Gone to his death. The wily flames 

The ready friend no danger can appall; surround 

Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and And bum and beat hls ladder to the 

brave, ground, 

He hurries forth to battle and to save. In flaming columns move with quicken- 
ed beat 

From yonder dwelling, fiercely shoot- To rear a massive wall ' gainst his re . 

in 8° ut » treat. 

Devouring all they coil themselves about Courage(ius heart, thy mission was so 

The flaming furies, mount high and pure 

higher, Suffering humanity must thv loss de- 
Wrap the frail structure in a cloak of plore- 

e ' Henceforth with martyred heroes thou 

•Strong arms are battling with the stub- shalt live 

born toe Crowned with all honor's nobleness can 

In vain attempts their power to over- • 

throw; 

With mocking glee they revel with their Na y> not so fast ; subdue these gloomy 

prey, tears; 

-Defying human skill to check their way. Behold! he quickly on the roof appears, 

Bearing the tender child, his jacket 

And see! far up above the ilame's hot warm 

,)re:lth ' Flung round her shrinking form to 

Something that's human waits a horrid gu . u . d from h;u . m 

death; , Up with vour ladders! Quick! 'tis but 

A little child, with waving golden hair, chance! 

stands, like a phantom. 'mid the horrid Beh()M hmv fftgt the ^^ flameg 

S lare - advance! 



94 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Quick: quick: brave spirits, to his res- 
cue fly; 

Up! up! by heavens! this hero must not 
die! 

Silence! he comes along the burning 

road, 
Bearing, with tender care, his living 

load : 
Aha: he totters! Heaven in mercy save 
The good, true heart that can so nobly 

brave. 
He's up again! and now he's coming 

fast! 
One moment and the fiery ordeal's 

passed! 
And low he's safe! Bold flames, ye 

fought in vain! 
A happy mother clasps her child again! 
George M. Baker. 



Will the New Year Come To-night? 

Will the New Year come to-night,mam- 
ma? I'm tired of waiting so, 

My stocking hung by the chimney side 
full three long days ago. 

I run to peep within the door, by morn- 
ing's early light, 

'Tis empty still — Oh, say, mamma, will 
New Year come to-night? 

Will the New Year come to-night, mam- 
ma? the snow is on the hill, 

The ice must be two inches thick upon 
the meadow rill. 

I heard you tell papa last night, his son 
must have a sled 

(I didn't mean to hear, mamma), and a 
pair of skates you said. 

I prayed for just those things, mamma, 

oh, I shall be full of glee, 
And the orphan boys in the village 

school will all be envying me; 
But I'll give them toys, and lend them 

book, and make their New Year 

glad, 
For, God, you say, takes back his gifts 

when little folks are bad. 

And won't you let me go, mamma upon 
the New Year's day, 



And carry something nice and warm to. 
poor old widow Gray? 

I'll leave the basket near the door, with- 
in the garden gate, — 

Will the New Year come to-night, mam- 
ma it seems so long to wait. 

The New l r ear comes to-night, mamma,, 
I saw it in my sleep, 

My stocking hung so full, I thought- 
mamma what makes you weep?- 

But it only held a little shroud— a shroud 
and nothing more: 

An open coffin — open for me — was. 
standing on the floor. 

It seemed so very strange, indeed, to 

find such gifts instead 
Of all the toys I wished so much, the 

story-book and sled; 
But while I wondered what it meant, 

you came with tearful joy 
And said, "Thou'lt find the New Year 

lint; God calleth thee, my boy!" 

It is not all a dream, mamma,I know it 

must be true; 
But have I been so bad a boy God tak- 

eth me from you? 
I don't know what papa will do when 1 

am laid to rest,— 
And you will have no Willie's head to 

fold upon your breast. 

The New Year comes to-night, mamma, 

— your cold hand on my cheek, 
And raise my head a little more — it 

seems so hard to speak; 
You need not fill my stocking now, I 

can not go and peep, 
Before to-morrow's sun is up, I'll be so 

sound asleep. 

I shall not want the skates, mamma, 

I'll never need the sled; 
But won't 3 T ou give them both to Blake, 

who hurt me on my head? 
He used to hide my books away, and. 

tear the pictures too, 
But now he'll kuow that I forgive, as 

then I tried to do. 

And if you please, mamma, I'd like the 
story-book and slate, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



95 



To go to Frank, the drunkard's boy, you 

would not let me hate; 
And, dear mamma, you won't, forget, 

upon the New Year day, 
The basket full »of something nice for 

poor old widow Gray? 

The New Year comes to-night, mamma, 

it seems so very soon, 
I think God didn't hear me ask for just 

another June; 
I know [Ye been a thoughtless boy, and 

made you too much care. 
And may be for your sake, mamma, He 

doesn't hear my prayer. 

It can not be; but you will keep the 
summer flowers green, 

Aud plant a few — don't cry, mamma — 
a very few I mean, 

When I'm asleep, I'd sleep so sweet be- 
neath the apple tree, 

Where you aud robin, in the morn, may 
come aud sing to me. 

The New Year comes— good-night, 

mamma — "I layme down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord" — tell poor papa — -'my 

soul to keep; 
If I" — how cold it seems— how dark — 

kiss me, I can not see — 
The New Year comes to-night, mamma, 

the old year dies with me. 

Coka M. Eager. 



The Aocusing-Bell, or the Blind Horse. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF LA.NGBEIN, BY 
OLIVER OLDMHAM. 

What means that wondrous belfry there 

Within tin; market-place. 
With neither gate nor door to bar 

The winged wind's fleet pace? 
Do meu rejoice, or do they moan, 

When this old bell is heard? 
Besides, what means that form of stone 

The lofty steed there reared? 

'Tis oft that passing strangers ask: 
"What can these wonders be? 

Be mine, my friend, the cheerful task 
To tell the tale to thee:— 



^Ingratitude's Accdsing-Bkll," 

This antique thing they call, 
With glory round it hover still • 
Our fathers 1 spirits all. 

Unthankfulness, e'en in their day. 

Was this world's foul reward; 
Hence did they here this form display, 

And by it ingrates awed. 
Whoever felt that serpent's sting, 

To him the right was given, 
Himself the accusing-bell to ring, 

Though it were midnight even. 

Then, day or night, in frost or thaw, 

Come forth the judges must, 
And seek, according to the law, 

The matter to adjust. 
Then weighed not rank, then weighed 
not gold; 

Alike stood slave and lord; 
Those judges were not awed norjioJLU; 

They spoke the righteous word. 

Within the century just expired, 

Near here there lived a soul, 
Who had by luck or trule acquired 

Of wide domains control. 
Of riches told his costly dress, 

And style of life, of course; 
For us he kept, — for show no less, 

A splendid saddle horse. 

W r hen riding once, at twilight dim, 

Forth rushed six robbers fell, 
From thickets dark, and set on him 

W r ith tiger spring and yell. 
Now all aghast, his menaced life 

Seemed on a hair suspended; 
When.lo! against the fearful strife 

His horse's speed defended. 

All white with foam, the steed soob 
brought 

His master home unmanned. 
When he, impelled by grateful thought. 

His horse's worth proclaimed; 
Then gravely made this solemn vow: — 

"To thee, my gallant gray, 
Prime oats abundant I'll allow, 

Until thy latest day." 

At length the horse grew old and sick; 
Was stiff, aud lame, aud blind; 



9 6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



When gratitude, alas! too quick 

Forsook his master's mind. 
He basely sought the beast to sell; 

But vain his efforts all; 
Then suddenly, with spirits fell, 

He drove him from his stall. 

And there, he stood the door-way near. 

Till eight long hours passed around; 
And oft inclines his listening ear 

\\ hen steps within resounJ. 
And now the stars shed forth their light: 

Poor horse! unhoused, nnfed: 
Thus doomed to pass the chilly night: 

The frosty stones his bed. 

£t:ll lingering there the following day. 

The wretched creature stood; 
Till forced by hunger's sting away 

To seek for needed food. 
Around him, though the sun bright 
beamed. 

Thick darkness drew her curtain; 
And he that once all winged seeme I . 

2s ow walked with step uncertain. 

His right foot slow he forward moved. 

Before a step he trode; 
And, step by step, he testing proved 

The safety of the road. 
Thus groping sadly through the streets, 

He grazes 'long the ground: 
And grasps at every straw he meets. 

As precious treasure found. 

At last, by hunger's fiercer might, 

To skin and bones brought near, 
He stumbled once, at dead of night. 

Into the bell-house here. 
All eager, 'neath starvation's pang. 

He seized the bell-rope there; 
And, while he gnawed, the old bell rang 

Loud through the midnight air. 

The startled judges hurrying came, 

According to the law; 
And loud exclaimed, iu wonder's name. 

When they the ringer saw. 
They went not back, iu sportive mood, 

Their downy ek; 

But all amazed, they cried: — "Tis God 
- MI 'doth speak:" 



Straightway they send, in legal form, 

The in grate forth to bring; 
Who, when aroused, began to storm: — 

"You dream! What means this thing?" 
He came; and soon, though proud his 
air. 

Sunk tamely to the ground; 
When, mid the court assembled there. 

His hapless horse he found. 

"Know'st thou this creature?" so accost 

Him all the court arrayed. 
"Had not thy life long sinee been lost, 

But for his timely aid? 
And how dost thou his service pay? 

Thou giv'st him, man of ice! 
To storms, to boyish sport a prey, 

And hunger's pinching vice. 

"The accusing-bell has duly tolled; 

The plaintiff here you see; 
The facts exeuseless crime unfold. 

And, therefore, we decree: — 
That you take back that faithful steed; 

Give him his stall anew; 
Supply his ever proper need, 

As Christian man should do." 

The rich man sighed; he looked awry. 

Chagrined and vexed, of course: 
Yet, conscious of a crime so high, 

He homeward led the horse. 
Thus, as the records briefly show, 

I've detailed all the facts. 
Hence, from that horse of stone, you 
know 

Our noble fathers' acts. 



Cambyses and the Macrobian Bow- 
Paul H. Hatete. 
One morn, hard by a slumberous 

streamlet's wave, the plane-trees stir- 
less in the unbreathing calm, and all 
the lush-red roses drooped in dream, 
lay King Cambyses, idle as a cloud that 
waits the wind, — aimless of thought 
and will. — but with vague evil, like the 
lightniug's bolt ere yet the electric 
death be forged to smite, seething at 
heart. His courtiei a :m round, 

whereof was one who to his comrades' 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



97 



ears, with bated breath and wonder- 
arched browa extolled a certain 
Bactrian's matchless skill displayed in 
bow-craft: at whose marvelous feats, 
eagerly vaunted, the King's soul grew 
hot with envy, for himself erewbile bad 
been rated the mightiest archer in bis 
realm. 

Slowly he rose, and pointing south- 
Ward, said, "seest thou. Prexaspes. 
yonder slender palm, a mere wan 
shadow quivering in the light, topped 
by a ghostly leaf crown? Prithee, now, 
can this, thy famous Bactrian, standing 
here, cleave with his shaft a hand's- 
breadth marked thereon." To which 
Prexaspes answered, "Nay, my lord; 
I spake of feats compassed by mortal 
skill, not of gods' prowess." Unto 
whom, the king: — "And if myself. 
Prexaspes, made essay, thiuk'st thou, 
wise counselor, I too should fail?" 
■■Needs must I, sire," — albeit the cour- 
tier's voice, trembled, and some dark 
prescience bade him pause, — "Needs 
must I hold such cunning more than 
man's; and for the rest, I pray thy 
pardon, King, but yester-eve, amid the 
feast and dauce, thou tarriedst with 
the beakers over-long." 

The thick, wild, treacherous eye- 
brows of the King, that looked a shel- 
tering ambush for ill thoughts waxing 
to manhood, of maligant acts, — these 
treacherous eyebrows, pent-house 
fashion, closed o'er the blaek orbits of 
his fiery eyes, — which, clouded thus, 
but Hashed a deadlier gleam on all be- 
fore him: suddenly as tire half-choked 
and smouldering in iisown dense smoke 
bursts into roaring radiance and swift 
flame, touched by keen breaths of 
liberating wind, — so now Cambyses' 
eyes a stormy joy stormily filled; for on 
Prexaspes' son, his tirst-born son, they 
lingered. — a fair boy (midmost his 
fellow-pages Hushed with sport), who, 
in his ofiiee of King's cup-bearer,— so 
gracious and so sweet were all his ways 
•—had even the captious sovereign 



seemed to please; while for the court, 
the reckless, reveling court, they loved 
him one and all: "(io," said ('.-unbyses 
now, his voice a hiss, poisonous and 
low. "go, bind my dainty page to 
yonder palm-tree; bind him fast and 
sure, so that no linger stirreth; which 
being done, fetch me, Prexaspes, the 
Macro bian bow." 

Thus ordered, thus accomplished: — 
fast they bound the innocent child, the 
while that mammoth bow, brought by 
the spies from Ethiopian camps, lay in 
the King's hand; slowly, sternly up, he 
reared it to the level of his sight, reared 
and bent back its oaken massiveuess 
till the vast muscles, tough as grape- 
vines, bulged from naked arm and 
shoulder, and the horns of the fierce 
weapon groaning, almost met, when, 
with one lowering glance askance at 
him — his doubting satrap, — the King 
coolly said, "Prexaspes, look, my aim 
is at the heart:" 

Then came the sharp twang, and the 
deadly whirr of the loosed arrow, fol- 
lowed by the dull, Drear echo of a bolt 
that smites its mark; and those of 
keenest visiou shook to see the fair 
child fallen forward across his bonds, 
quoth the King, clapping Prexaspes' 
shoulder, as in glee, "go thou, and tell 
me how that shaft hath sped!" 

Forward the wretched father, step by 
step, crept, as one creeps whom black 
Hadean dreams, visions of fate and 
fear unuttera >le, draw, tranced and 
rigid, towards some definite goal of 
horror; but even as he looked the fair 
child recovered from his fright, and 
leaped towards him. The father could 
scarce believe his eyes, "Twas but the 
thong the shaft had pierced, thus vindi- 
cating the matchless skill of his king. 
Prexaspes leading his smiling boy re- 
turned and made obeisance to his 
master, who replied. "Thou art for- 
given old man, but when next you hear 
Cambyses called drunkard, tell them 
how and to what purpose once I drew 
the Macrobian Bow. 



98 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The Drummer Boy. 
A Touching Incident of the Crimean War. 
"Captain Graham, the men were sayin' 

Ye would want a drummer lad, 
So I've brought my bey Sandie, 

Tho' my heart is woful sad; 
But uae bread is left to feed us, 

And no siller to buy more, 
For the gudenian sleeps forever, 

Where the heather blossoms o'er. 

"Sandie, make your manners quickly, 

Play your blithest measure true — 
Gives us 'Flowers of Edinboro',' 

While you fifer plays it too. 
Captain, heard ye e'er a player 

Strike in truer time than heV" 
"Nay, iu truth, brave Sandie Murray 

Drummer of our corps shall be." 

"I give ye thanks— but, Captain, maybe 

Ye will hae a kindly care 
For the friendless, lonely laddie, 

When the battle wark is sair: 
For Sandie's aye been good and gentle, 

And I've nothing else to love. 
Nothing — but the grave off yonder, 

And the Father up above." 

Then, her rough hand gently laying 

On the curl-encircled head, 
She blessed her boy. The tent was silent, 

And not another word was said; 
For Captain Graham was sadly dreaming 

Of a benison, long ago. 
Breathed above his head, then golden, 

Bending now, and touched with snow. 

"Good-bye, San die." "Good- bye, mot her, 

I'll come back some summer day; 
Don't you fear — the}' don't shoot drum- 
mers 

Ever. Do the}*, Captain Gra V 

One more kiss— watch for me, mother, 

You will know 'tis surely me 
Coming home— for you will hear me 

Playing soft the reveille." 
* * * * * * . * 

After battle. Moonbeams ghastly 
Seemed to link in strange affright, 

As the scudding clouds before them 
Shadowed faces dead and white; 



And the night- wind softly whispered, 
When low moans its light wing bore--: 

Moans that ferried spirits over 

Death's dark wa-. e to yonder shore. 

Wandering where a footstep careless 

Might go splashing down in blood, 
Or a helpless hand lie grasping 

Death and daisies from the sod — 
Captain Graham walked swift onward, 

VV r hile a faintly-beaten drum 
Quickened heait and step together: 

"Sandie Murrayj See, I come! 

"Is it thus I tind you, laddie? 

Wounded, lonely, lying here, 
Playing thus the reveille? 

See— the morning is not near." 
A moment paused the drummer boy, 

And lifted up his drooping head: 
"Oh, Captain Graham, the light is 
coming, 

'Tis morning and my prayers are said 

"Morning! See, the plains grow 
brighter — 

Morning — and I'm going home, 
That is why I play the measure, 

Mother will not see me come; 
But you'll tell her, won't you, Captain — " 

Hush, the boy has spoken true; 
To him the day has dawned forever, 

Unbroken by the night's tattoo. 



The Palmetto and the Pine- 
Virginia L. Fhench. 

They planted them together— our gaK 

lant sires of old — 
Though one was crowned with crystal 

snow, and one with solar gold. 
They planted them together on the 

world's majestic height: 
At Saratoga's deathless charge; at Eu-. 

taw's stubborn tight; 
At midnight on the dark redoubt, 'mid 

plunging shot and shell; 
At noontide gasping in the crush of 

battle's bloody swell. 
With gory hands and reeking brows, 

amid the mighty fray 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



99 



Whi- h surged and swelled around 

them on that memorable day. 
When they planted Independence as a 

symbol and a sign, 
They struck deep soil and planted the 

palmetto and fche pine. 
They planted them together,— by the 

river of the years, — 
Watered with our fath ers' hearts' blood. 

watered with our mothers' tears-, 
In the strong, rich soil of freedom, with 

a bounteous bension 
From their prophet, priest and pioneer 

— our father, Washington! 
Above them floated echoes of the ruin 

and the wreck, 
Like "drums that heat at Louisburg 

and thundered at Quebec;" 
But the old lights sauk to darkness as 

the new stars rose to shine 
O'er those emblems of the sections, the 

palmetto and the pine. 

And we'll plant them still together — 

for 'tis yet the self-same soil 
Our fathers' valor won for us by victory 

and toil; 
On Florida's fair everglades, by bold 

Ontario's flood, — 
And through them send electric life, as 

leaps the kindred blood! 
For thus it is they taugh us who for 

freedom lived and died, — 
The Eternal's law of justice must and 

shall be justified, 
That God hath joined together, by a fiat 

all divine, 
The destinies of dwellers 'neath the 

palm-tree and the pine. 
******* 
God plant them still together! Let them 

flourish side by side 
In the halls of our Centennial, mailed 

in more than marble pride! 
With kindly deeds and noble names 

we'll grave them o'er and o'er 
With brave historic legends of the glor- 
ious days of yore; 
While the clear, exultant chorus, rising 

from united bands, 



The echo of our triumph peals to 
earth's remotest lands; 

While "faith, fraternity, and love" 
shall joyfully entwine 

Around our chosen emblems, the pal- 
metto and the pine. 

"Together!" shouts Niagara, his thun- 
der toned decree; 

"Together!" echo back the waves upon 
the Mexic Sea; 

"Together!" sing the sylvan hills where 
old Atlantic roars; 

"Together!" boom the breakers on the 
wild Pacific shores; 

"Together!" cry the people. And '7o- 
gether" it shall be, 

An everlasting charter-bond forever 
for the free! 

Of liberty the signet-seal, the one etern- 
al sign, 

Be those united emblems — the palmetto 
and the pine. 



The Victor of Marengo. 

Napoleon was sitting in his tent; be- 
fore him lay a map of Italy. He took 
four pins and stuck them up; measured, 
moved the pins, and measured again. 
"Now," said he, "that is right; 1 will 
capture him there!" "Who, sir?" said 
an officer. "Milas, the old fox of Aus- 
tria. He will retire from Genoa, pass 
Turin, and fall back on Alexandria. I 
shall cross the Po, meet him on the 
plains of Laconia, and conquer him 
there," and the finger of the child of 
destiny pointed to Marengo. 

Two months later the memorable 
campaign of 1800 began. The 20th of 
May saw Napoleon on the heights of 
St. Bernard. The 22d, Larmes, wit li- 
the army of Genoa, held Padua. So 
far, all had been well with Napoleon. 
He had compelled the Austrians to take 
the position he desired; reduced the 
army from one hundred and twenty 
thousand to forty thousand men; dis- 
patched Murat to the right, and June 
14th moved forward to consummate his 
masterly plan. 



lOO 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



But God threatened to overthrow his 
scheme: A little rain had fallen in 
the Alps, and the Po could not be cros- 
sed in time. The battle was begun. 
Milas, pushed to the wall, resolved to 
cut his way out; and Napoleon reached 
the field to see Larmes beaten — Cham- 
peaux dead — Desaix still charging old 
Milas, with his Austrian phalanx at 
Marengo, till the consular guard gave 
way, and the well-planned victory was 
a terrible defeat. Just as the day was 
lost, Desaix, the boy General, sweeping 
across the field at the head of his caval- 
ry, halted on the eminence where stood 
Napoleon. There was in the corps a 
drummer-boy, a gamin whom Desaix 
had picked up in the streets of Paris. 
He had followed the victorious eagle of 
France in the campaigns of Egypt and 
Germany. As the columns halted, 
Napoleon shouted to him: — "Beat a re- 
treat!" The boy did not stir. "Gamin, 
beat a retreat!" The boy stopped, 
grasped his drum-sticks, and said: "Sir, 
I do not know how to beat a retreat; 
Desaix never taught me that; but I can 
beat a charge, — Oh! I can beat a charge 
that will make the dead fall into line. 
I beat that charge at tha Pyramid; I 
beat that charge at Mount Tabor, I 
beat it again at the bridge of Lodi. 
May I beat it here?" Napoleon turned 
to Desaix, and said: "We are beaten; 
what shall we do?" "Do? Beat them! 
It is only three o'clock, and there is 
time enough to win a victory yet. Up! 
the charge! beat the old charge of 
Mount Tabor and Lodi!" A momen 1 
later the corps, following the sword- 
gleam of Desaix, and keeping step with 
the furious roll of the gamin's drum, 
swept down on the host of Austrians. 
They drove the first line back on the 
second — both on the third, and there 
they died. Desaix fell at the first vol- 
ley, but the line never faltered, and as 
the smoke cleared away the gamin was 
seen in front of his line marching right 
on, and still beating the furious charge. 



Over the dead and wounded, over the 
breastworks and fallen foe, over can- 
non belching forth their fire of death, 
he led the wa3' to victory, and the fif- 
teen days in Italy were ended. To-day 
men point to Marengo and wonder. 
They admire the power and foresight 
that so skillfully handled the battle, 
but they forget that a General only 
thirty years of age made a victory of a 
defeat, They forget that a gamin of 
Paris put to shame "the child of des- 
tiny." 



The Dead Student. 

It doesn't seem — now does it Jack? — as 

if poor Brown were dead: 
'Twas only yesterday, at noon, he had 

to take his bed. 
The day before, he played first base, and 

ran McFarland down; 
And then, to slip away so sly — 'twas 

not at all like Brown. 

The story seems too big to take. 'Most 

anyone will 'find 
It's something hard to get a man well 

laid out in his mind. 
And Brown was just afire with life. 

'Twouldn't scare me, I avow, 
To hear a whoop, and see the man go 

rushing past here now. 

Poor Brown! he's lying in his room, as 

white as drifted snow. 
I called upon him, as it were, an hour 

or two ago. 
A-rushing into Brownie's room seemed 

awkward like and queer; 
We haven't spoken back and forth for 

something like a year. 

W r e didn't pull together square a single 

night or day: 
Howe'er I went, he soon contrived to 

find another way. 
He ran against me in my loves; we 

picked a dozen bones 
About that girl you used to like — the 

one that married Jones. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



ioi 



He worked against me in the class, be- 
fore my very eyes; 

Ha opened up and sc-oopcd me square 
out of the junior prize. 

In the last campus rush we came to 
strictly business Mows, 

And from the eye he left undimmed I 
viewed his damaged nose. 

In fact, I came at last to feel— and own 

it with dismay— 
That life would be worth living for if 

Brown were out the way. 
But when I heard that he was dead, my 

feelings tacked; and then 
I would have given half my life to get 

his back again. 
I called upon him, as it were, an hour 

or two ago, 
The room was neat beyond excuse— the 

women made it so. 
Be sure he had no hand in that, and 

naught about it knew r . 
To see the order lying round had made 

him very blue. 

A sweet boquet of girlish flowers smiled 

in the face of Death. 
Straight through the open window came 

the morning's fragrant breath. 
Close-caged, a small canary bird, with 

glossy, yellow throat, 
Skipped drearily from perch to perch, 

and never sung a note. 

With hair unusually combed, sat poor 
McFarland near, 

Alternately perusing Greek, and wrest- 
ling with a tear. 

A homely little girl of six, for some old 
kindness' sake, 

Was sobbing in the corner there, as if 
her heart would break. 

The books looked worn and wretched 
like, almost as if they knew, 

And seemed to be a-whispering their ti- 
tles to my view. 

His rod and gun were in their place; and 
high, where all might see, 

Gleamed jauntily the boating cup he 
won last year from me. 



I lifted up tin- solemn sheet. That hon- 
est, earnest face 

Showed signs of culture and of toil that 
Death would not erase, 

As western skiesal twilight mark where 
late the sun has been, 

Brown's face revealed the mind and 
soul that once bad burned within. 

He looked so grandly helpless, there, 

upon that lonely bed! 
Oh, Jack! these manly foes are foes no 

more when they are dead! 
"Old boy!" I sobbed "twas half my 

fault. This heart makes late 

amends." 
I took the white cold hands in mine — 

and Brown and I were friends. 
Will Carleton. 



How He Saved St. Micheals. 

ALDLNE. 

So you beg foi" a story, my darling, my 

Brown-eyed Leopold, 
And you, Alice, with face like morning, 

and curling locks of gold; 
Then come, if you will, and listen — 

stand (dose beside my knee — 
To a tale of the Southern city, proud 

Charleston by the sea. 

It was long ago, my children, ere ever 
the signal gun 

That blazed above Fort Sumter had 
wakened the North as one, 

Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle- 
cloud and lire 

Had marked where the unchained mil- 
lions marched on to their heart's 
desire. 

On the roofs and the glittering turrets, 

that night, as the sun went down, 
The mellow glow of the twilight shown 

like a jeweled crown; 
And, bathed in the living glory, as the 

people lifted their eyes, 
They saw the pride of the city, the spire 

of St. Michael's, rise 

High over tin? lesser steeples, tipped 

with a golden ball, 



io: 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



That hung like a radiant planet caught 

in its earthward fall,— 
First glimpse of home to the sailor who 

made the harbor-round 
And last slow-fading vision dear to the 

outward bound. 

The gently gathering shadows shut out 

the waning light; 
The children prayed at their bedsides, 

as you will pray to-night; 
The noise of buyer and seller from the 

busy mart was gone; 
And in dreams of peaceful morrow the 

city slumbered on. 

But another light than sunrise aroused. 

the sleeping street; 
For a cry was heard at midnight, and 

the rush of tramping feet; 
Men stared in each other's faces through 

mingled tire and smoke, 
While the frantic bells went clashing, 

clamorous stroke on stroke. 

By the glare of her blazing roof-tiee the 

homeless mother lied, 
With the babe she pressed to her bosom 

shrieking in nameless dread, 
While the fire king's wild battalions 

scaled wall and capstone high, 
And planted their flaring banners 

against an inky sky. 

From the death that raged behind them, 
and the crash of ruin loud, 

To the great square of £the city, were 
driven the surging crowd; 

Where yet, firm in all the tumult, un- 
scathed by the fiery flood, 

With its heavenward-pointing finger 
the Church of St. Michael stood. 

But e'en as they gazed upon it there 
rose a sudden wail — 

A cry of horror, blended with the roar- 
ing of the gale, 

On whose scorching wings updriven, a 
single flaming brand 

Aloft on the towering steeple clung like 
a bloody hand. 

"Will it fade?" The whisper trembled 
from a thousand whitening lips; 



Far out on the lurid harbor, they watch- 
ed it from the ships, — 

A baleful gleam that brighter and ever 
brighter shone, 

Like a flickering, trembling will-o'-wisp 
to a steady beacon grown. 

"Uncounted gold shall be given to the 

man whose brave right hand, 
For the love of the periled city, plucks 

dowm yon burning brand."' 
So, cried the mayor of Charleston, that 

all the people heard; 
But they looked each one at his fellow; 

and no man spoke a word. 

Who is it leans from the belfry, with 

face upturned to the sky, 
Clings to a column, and measures the 

dizzy spire with his eye? 
Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, 

that terrible sickening height? 
Or will the hot blood of his courage 

freeze in his veins at the sight? 

But see? he has stepped on the railing; 

he climbs with his feet and his 

hands; 
And firm on a narrow projection, With 

the belfry beneath him, he stauds; 
Now once, and once only they cheer 

him , — a single tempestuous 

breath, — 
And there falls on the multitude gazing 

a hush like the stillness of death. 

Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding 
aught save the goal of the tire, 

Still higher and higher, an atom, he 
moves on the face of the spire. 

He stops! Will he fall? Lo! for answer, 
a gleam like a meteors's track, 

And, hurled on the stones of the pave- 
ment, the red brand lies shattered 
and black. 

Once more the shouts of the people 

have rent the quivering air; 
At the church-door mayor and council 

wait with iheir feet on the stair; 
And the eager throng behind them press 

for a touch of his hand, — 
The unknown savior, whose daring 

could compass a deed so grand. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



103 



Hut why does :i sudden tremor seize on 

Ihem while they g 1 
Ami what meaueth I d murmur 

of wonder and amaze? 
lit- stood in the gate of the temple he 

had periled his life to save; 
And the faee of the hero, my children, 

was the sable faee of a slave! 

With folded arms he was speaking, in 

t«»nes that were clear, not loud. 
And his eyes, ablaze in their sockets 

burnt into the eyes of the crowd: 
"You may keep your gold: I scorn it! — 

but answer me, ye who can, 
If the deed I have done before you be 

not the deed of a miar!" 

He stepped but a short spaee backward; 

and from all the women and men 
There were only sobs for answer; and 

the mayor called for a pen. 
And the great seal of the city, that he 

might read who ran: 
And the slave who saved St. Michael's 

went out from its door a man.. 



The Roman Soldier — Destruction of Hercu- 
laneum. 

ATHEKSTON. 
PART I. 

There was a man, a Roman soldier, 
for some daring deed that trespassed 
on the laws, in dungeon low ehained 
down. His was a noble spirit, rough. 
But generous, and brave, and kind. 
He had a son; it was a rosy boy, a little 
faithful eopy of his sire in face aud 
gesture. From infancy the child had 
been his father's solace and his care. 

Every sport the father shared and 
heightened. Hut at length the rigorous 
law had grasped him, and condemned 
to fetters and to darkness. The cap- 
tive's lot In 1 fell, in all its bitterness; — 
the walls of his deep dungeon answered 
many a sigh and heart-heaved groan. 
His tale was known, and touched his 
jailer with compassion;— and the boy. 
thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled 



His father's lingering hours, and 
brought a balm with bia loved presence, 
that in every wound dropt healing. 
But in this terrific hourhe was a p< 

ed arrow in the breast where he had 
been a cure. 

With earliest morn, of that first day 
of darkness ami amaze, he came. The 
iron door was closed, — for then never 
to open more! The day, the night, 
dragged slowly by; nor did they know- 
the fate impending o'er the city. Well 
they heard the pent-up thunders in the 
earth beneath, and felt its giddy rock- 
ing: and the air grew hot at length, and 
thick; but in his Btraw the boy was 
sleeping: and the father hoped the 
earthquake might pass by; nor would 
he wake from his sound rest the unfear- 
ing child, nor tell the dangers of their 
state. On his low couch the fettered 
soldier sunk; aud with deep awe listen- 
ed the fearful sounds: with upturned 
eye to the great gods h> breathed a 
prayer; then strove to calm himself, 
and lose in sleep a while his useless ter- 
rors. 

But he could not sleep. His body 
burned with feverish heat; his chains 
clanked loud, although he moved not; 
deep in the earth groaned unimaginable 
thunders; sounds, fearful and ominous, 
arose and died, like the sad meanings 
of November's wind, in the blank mid- 
night. Deepest horror chilled his blood 
that burned before; cold, clammy 
sweats came o'er him; then, anon, a 
tiery thrill shot through his veins. Now 
on his couch he shrunk ami shivered, 
as in fear; now upright leaped, as 
though he heard the battle-trumpet 
sound, and longed to cope with death. 
He slept at last, a troubled, dreamy 
sleep. Well—had he slept never to 
waken more! His hours are few, but 
terrible Ids agony. 

PART 11. 

Soon the storm burst forth; the light- 
nings glanced; the air shook with the 



o 4 



Olmsiead's Recitations. 



thunders. They awoke; they sprung 
amazed upon their feet. The dungeon 

glowed a moment as in sunshine — and 
was dark. Again a Hood of white flame 
tills the cell; dying away upou the daz- 
zled eye in darkening, quivering tints, 
as stunning sound dies throbbing, ring- 
iug in the ear. Silence, and blackest 
darkness. With intensest awe the sol- 
dier's frame was tilled; and many a 
thought of strange forboding hurried 
through his mind, as underneath he felt 
the fevered earth jarring and lifting. 
and the massive walls heard harshly 
grate and strain. 

Loudly the father called upon his 
child. No voiee replied. Trembling 
and anxiously he searched their couch 
of straw; with headlong haste trod 
round his stinted limits, and, low bent, 
groped darkling on the earth: no child 
was there. Again he called: again, at 
farthest stretch of his accursed fetters, 
till the blood seemed bursting from his 
ears, and from his eyes fire flashed; he 
strained with arm extended far, and 
fingers widely spread, greedy to touch 
though but his idol's garment. Useless 
toil! Yet still renewed: still round and 
rouud he goes, and strains, and snatch- 
es; and, with dreadful cries, calls on his 
boy. Mad frenzy fires him now. He 
plauts against the wall his feet; his 
chain grasps: tugs, with giaut strength, 
to force away the deep-driven staple: 
yells and shrieks with rage. 

And, like a desert lion in the snare 
raging to break his toils, to and fro he 
bounds. But see! the ground is open- 
ing: a blue light mounts, gently wav- 
ing; noisless; thin and cold it seems, 
and like a rainbow tint, not flame; but 
by its luster, on the earth outstretched, 
behold the lifeless child! his dress is sing- 
ed aud o'er his face serene a darkened 
line points out the lightning's track. 

The father saw; and all his fury fled: 
a dead calm fell that instant on him: 
speechless, fixed he stood, and with a 



look that never wandered, gazed in« 
tensely on the corpse. Those laughing 
eves were not yet closed: aud round 
those ruby lips the wonted smile return- 
ed. 

Silent and pale the father stands: no 
tear is in his eye: the thunders bellow; 
but he hears them not; the ground lifts 
like a sea; he knows it not: the strong 
walls grind and gape: the vaulted roof 
lakes shapes like bubbles tossiug in the 
wind. See! he looks up and s 
for death to him is happiness. Yet 
could one last embrace be given, 'twere 
still a sweeter thing to die. 

It will be gi.'en. Look! how the roll- 
ing ground, at every swell, nearer and 
still more nearmoves toward the father's 
outstretched arm his boy. Once he has 
touched his garment; how his eye light-, 
ens with love, and hope, and anxious 
fears! Ha! see; he has him now! he 
clasps him round; kisses his face; puts 
back the curling locks that shaded his 
fine brow; looks in his eyes; grasps in 
his own those little dimpled hands; 
then folds him to his breast, as he was 
wont to lie when sleeping, and resigned 
awaits undreaded death. And death 
came soon, aud swift, and pangless. 
The huge pile sunk down at once into 
the opening earth. Walls, arches, roof, 
and deep foundation-stones, all ming* 
ling, fell! 



Over the Hills From the Poor-house. 

I who was always counted they say. 
Rather a bad stick anyway, 
Splintered all over with dodges and 

tricks. 
Known as "the worst of the deacon's 

six; 
J the truant, saucy and bold; 
The oneblaek sheep of my father's fold, 
"Once on a time" as the stories say 
'Went over the hills on a winter day. 
Over the hills to the poor-hoi 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



io: 



Tom could save what twenty could earn, 
But givin' was something he never 

could learn. 
Isaac c >uld half of the scriptures speak: 
Committed a hundred verses a week; 
Never forgot and never slipped; 
But "Honor thy father and mother" he 

skipped, 
Si) over the hills to the poor-house. 

As for Susan, her heart was kind 
An' good— what there was of it, mind: 
Nothin too big and nothin too nice 
No-thin 1 she wouldn't sacrifice; 
For one she loved, an' that 'ere one 
Was herself, when all was said and 

done, 
An' Charley and Becca meant well no 

doubt. 
But anyone could pull 'em about. 
And all our folks ranked well you see 
Save one poor fellow, and that was me. 
An' when one dark and rainy night 
A neighbors horse went— out of sight, 
They hitched on me as the guilty chap 
That carried one end of the halter strap. 
An' I think myself, that view of the 

case, 
Wasn't altogether out of place, 
My mother denied it as mothers do, 
But I'm inclined to think 'twas true; 
Tho' for me one thing might be said, 
That I as well as the horse was led. 
And the worst of whiskey spurred me 

on, 
Or else the deed would have never been 

done. 
But the keenest grief I ever felt, 
Was when my mother beside me knelt 
An' cried, an' prayed, till I melted down 
As I wouldn't for half the horses in 

town. 
I kissed her fondly then and there, 
An' swore henceforth to be houest and 
square. 

I served my sentence— a bitter pill 
Some fellows should take who never 

will. 
An' then I decided to go out West, 
Thinkin' 'twould suit my health the 

best, 



Where, how I prospered, 1 never could 

tell, 
But fortune seemed to like me well: 
An' somehow every vein 1 struck 

Was always bubbling over with luck; 
An' better than that i was steady and 

true, 
And put my gooil resolutions through. 
But I wrote to a tr.nty old neighbor 

and said: 
"You tell 'em, old fellow that I am dead 
An' died a christim; 'twill please 'em 

more 
Than if 1 had lived the same as before. 

But when this ueighbor he wrote to me, 
"Your mothers in the poor-house" said 

he, 
I had a resurrection straight way, 
An' started for her that very day. 
An' when I arrived where I was grown, 

I took good care that I shouldn't lie 
known; 

But I bought the old cottage through 
and through. 

Of some one Charley had sold it to, 

An' held back neither work nor gold 

To fix it up as it was of old. 

The same big tire-place wide and high, 

Flung up its cinders to the sky; 

The old clock ticked on the corner 
shelf— 

I wound it, and set it goin' myself; 

An' if everything wasn't just the same, 

Neither I nor money was to blame; 

Then — over the hill to the poor-house. 

One blowin', blusterin', winter's day 
With a team and cutter I started away; 
My fiery nags were as black as coal: 
(They somewhat resembled the boss I 

stole) 
I hitched an' entered the poor-house 

door; 
A poor old woman was scrubbin' the 

floor. 
She rose to her feet in great surprise. 
And looked quite startled into my eyes; 
1 saw the whole of her trouble's trace 
In the lines that marked her dear old 

face. 



io6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



"Mother!" 1 shouted "your sorrows are 
done! 

You're adopted along u' your horse- 
thief sou 

Come over the hiUfrom the poor-house. 

•She didn't faint: she knelt by my side 
An' thanked the Lord till I yelled and 

cried; 
An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant and 

gay. 

An' maybe she wasn't wrapped up that 

day. 
Au' maybe our cottage wasn't warm 

and bright, 
An' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight 
To see her gettin the even in' tea, 
An' frequently stopping an' kissin' me; 
An' maybe we didn't live happy for 

years. 
In spite of my brothers and sisters 

sneers, 
Who often said as I have heard, 
They wouldn't own a prison bird; 
'But they're gettin' over that I guess. 
For all of 'em owe me, more or less.) 
But I've learned one thing, an' it cheers 

a man 
Iu always a-doin' the best he can; 
That whether on the big book, a blot 
(rit's over a fellows name or not, 
Whenever he does a deed that's white. 
It's credited to him fair and right, 
An' when you hear the great bugle 

notes 
Au' the Lord divides his sheep and 

goats. 
However they may settle my case, 
Wherever they may fix my place, 
My good old Christian mother you'll 

Will be sure to stand right up for me 
With over the hills — from the poor- 
hou.se. 

Will Carletox. 



Alexacder Taming Bucephalus- 
Park Benjamin. 
'Bring forth the steed!" It was a 
level plain brotd and unbroken as the 



mighty sea, when in their prison caves 
the winds lie chained. There Philip 
sat. pavilioned from the sun; there, all 
around, thronged Macedonia's hosts, 
bannered and plumed and armed — a 
vast array. There too among an un- 
distinguished crowd, distinguished not 
himself by pomp, or dress, or any roy- 
al sign, save that he wore a god-like as- 
pect like Olympian Jove, and perfect 
grace and dignity, — a youth, —a simple 
youth scarce sixteen summers old, with 
swift, impatient step walked to and fro. 
E'en from their monarch's throne they 
turned to view — those countless con- 
gregations, — that young form; and 
when he cried again, "Bring forth the 
steed!; Like thunder rolled the multi- 
tudinous shout along the heavens. — 
"Live Alexander!" 

Then Philip waved his sceptre. — si- 
lence fell o'er all the plain. — Twas but 
a moment's pause, while every gleam- 
ing banner, helm, and spear sunk down 
like ocean billows, when the breeze first 
sweeps along and bends their silvery 
crests. Ten thousand trumpets rung 
amid the hail of armies, as in victory, 
— "Live the King!" and Philonicus, 
the Pharsalian, kneeled: From famous 
Thessaly a horse he brought, a match- 
less horse. Vigor and beauty strove 
like rival sculptors carving the same 
stone, to win the mastery; and both 
prevailed. His hoofs were shod with 
swiftness; where he ran glided the 
ground like water; in his eye flashed 
the strange fire of spirits still unturned, 
as when the desert owned him for its 
lord. Mars! what a noble creature did 
he seem! too noble for a subject to be- 
stride. — worth gold in talents; chosen 
for a prince, the most renowned and 
generous on earth. 

"Obey my sou, Pharsalian! bring the 
steed!"' The monarch spoke. A signal 
to the grooms, ami on the plain they 
led Bucephalus "Mount vassal, 

mount! Why pales thy cheek with 
fear? Mount— ha! art slain? Another! 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



107 



mount again!" 'Twas all in vain. — No 
hand could curb a neck ciothed with 

such might and grandeur, to the rein; 
no thong or spur could make his fury 
yield. — Now hounds he from the earth; 
and now he rears, now madly plunges, 
strives to rush away, like that strong 
bird — his fellow, king of air! 

"Quick take him hence; cried Philip, 
he is wild!" "Stay, father, stay! — lose 
not this gallant steed, for that base 
grooms cannot control his ire! give me 
the bridle!" Alexander threw his 
light cloak from his shoulders, and 
drew nigh. The brave steed was no 
courtier; prince and groom bore the 
same mien to him. — He stalled back, 
but with firm grasp the youth retained 
and turned his fierce eyes from his 
shadow to the sun, then with that hand, 
in after years which hurled the bolts of 
war among embattled hosts; conquered 
all Greece, and over Persia, swayed 
imperial command, — which on Fame's 
Temple graved, Alexander, Victor of the 
World! — With that same hand he 
smoothed the flowing maue, patted the 
glossy skin with soft caress, soothingly 
speaking in low voice the while. Light- 
ly he vaulted to his first great strife. 
How like a Centaur looked the youth 
and steed! firmly the hero sat; his 
glowing cheek flushed with the rare ex- 
citement; his high brow pale with a 
stern resolve; his lip as smiling and his 
glance as calm, as if, in dalliance, in- 
stead of danger, with a girl he played. 
Untutored to obey, how raves the 
steed: champing the bit, and tossing 
the white foam, and struggling to get 
free, that he might dart, swift as an 
arrow from the shivering bow — the 
rein is loosened. "Now, Bucephalus!'' 
away — away! he flies; away — away! 
The multitude stood hushed in breath- 
less awe, and gazed into the distance. 

Lo! a speck, — a darksome speck on 
the horizen! 'Tis -'tis he! Now it en- 
larges; now are seen the horse and rid- 
er; now, with ordered race the horse 
approaches, and the rider leaps down 



to the earth and bends his rapid pace 
unto the King's pavilion.— The wild 
Bteed unled, uncalled, is following his 
subduer. 

Philip wept tears of joy; "My son, go 
seek a larger empire; for so vast a soul, 
too small is Macedonia!" 



The Pilot's Ktory. 

It was a story the Pilot told with his 
back to his hearers, keeping his hand 
on the wheel and his eye on the globe 
of the jack staff holding the boat to the 
shore and out of the sweep of the cur- 
rent lightly turning aside for the heavy 
logs of the drift-wood widely shunning 
the snags that made us sardonic obeis- 
ance. 

It was the Pilot's story they both 
came aboard there at Cairo, from a 
New Orleans boat and took passage 
with us for St. Louis. She was a beau- 
tiful woman, with just enough blood 
from her mother, darkening her eyes 
and her hair to make her race known 
to a Trader; you would have thought 
she was white. The man that was with 
her — you see such — weakly, goodnatur- 
ed kind, and viceous, slender of soul 
and fit neither for loving nor hating. 

I was a youngster then, and only 
learning the river, — not over fond of 
the wheel. I used to watch them at 
'Monte, down in the cabin at night, and 
I learned to know all of the gamblers, 
so when I saw this weak one staking 
his money against them, betting upon 
the turn of the cards, I knew what was 
coming. They never left their pigeon 
a single feather to fiy with. 

Next day I saw them together,— the 
Stranger and one of the gamblers. 
Picturesque rascal he was, with long 
black hair and moustache, black slouch 
hat drawn down to his eyes from his 
villainous forehead, On together they 
moved, still earnestly talking in whis- 
pers on towards the fore-castle, where 
sat the woman alone by the gang- way. 



io8 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Roused by the fall of feet she turned 
and beholding her master greeted him 
with a smile that was more like a wife's 
than another, rose to meet him fondly, 
and then, with the dread apprehension 
always haunting the slave, fell her eyes 
on the face of the gambler, dark and 
lustful and fierce and full of merciless 
cunning. 

Something was spoken, so low that I 
could not hear what the words were; 
only the woman started, and looked 
from one to the other with imploring 
eyes, bewildered hands, and a tremor 
all through her frame; I saw her from 
where I was standing she shook so. 
"Say! is it so?" she cried. On the weak 
white lips of -her master, died a sickly, 
smile, and he said, 'Louise, I have sold 
you.' 

God is my judge! may I never see 
such a look of despairing, desolate an- 
guish, as that which the woman cast on 
her master griping her breast with her 
little hands, as if he had stabbed her; 
standing in silence a space, as fixed as 
the Indian woman carved out of wood, 
on the Pilot house of the old Pocahon- 
tas! Then, with a gurgling, like the 
sound in the throat of the dying, came 
back her voice, that, rising, fluttered, 
thro' wild incoherence into a terrible 
shriek that stopped my breast while she 
answered: 'sold me! sold me! sold— and 
3*ou promised to give me my freedom, 
promised me for the sake of my little 
boy in St. Louis! What will you say to 
our boy, when he cries for me there in 
St. Louis! what will you say to our God? 
Ah, you have been joking. ' I see it! — 
no? God! God! he shall hear it, — and 
all of the angels in Heaven, even the 
devils in hell! — and none will believe 
when they hear it! Sold me!" fell her 
voice with a thrilling wail, and in si- 
lence down she sank on the deck, and 
covered her face with her fingers. 

Still with his back to us standing the 
Pilot went on with his story; "Instant- 



ly, all the people, with looks of re- 
proach and compassion, flocked round 
the prostrated woman, the children cri- 
ed and their mothers hugged them 
tight to their breast; but the gambler 
said to the Captain: 'put me off there 
at the town that lies round the bend of 
the river. Here, you! rise at once, and 
be rea iy now to go with me.' Roughs- 
he seized the woman's arm and strove 
to uplift her. She,— she seemed not to 
heed him, but rose like one that is 
dreaming, slid from his grasp, and fleet- 
ly mounted the steps of the gang-way 
up to the hurricane deck, in silence, 
without lamentation. Straight to the 
stern of the boat, where the wheel 
was, she run and the people followed 
her fast, till she turned and stood at 
bay for a moment looking them in the 
face, and in the face of the gambler, 
not one to save her. — not one of all the 
compassionate people! Not one to save 
her, of all the pitying angels in Heaven?" 
not one bolt of God to strike him dead 
there before her? Wildly she waved 
him back, we waited in silence and hor- 
ror. Over the swarthy face of the gam- 
bler a pallor of passion passed, like a 
gleam of lightning over the west in the 
night time. White, she stood, and 
mute, till he put forth his hand to se- 
cure her! then she turned and leaped, — 
in mid air fluttered a moment,— down 
there, whirling, fell, like a broken 
w r inged bird from a tree top. Down on 
the cruel wheel, that caught her, and 
hid her forever. 

Still with his back to us all the Pilot 
stood, but we heard him swallowing 
hard, as he pulled the bell-rope to stop 
her, then, turning, — "this is the place 
where it happened" brokenly whispered 
the Pilot. "Somehow, I never like to 
go by here alone in the night time." 

Darkly the Mississippi blowed by the 
town that lay in the starlight cheerful 
with lamps. Below we could hear them 
reversing the engine and the great boat 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



109 



glided up to the shore like a giant ex- 
hausted; heavily sighed her pipes, broad 
over the swamps to the eastward shone 
the full moon, and turned our trembling 
wake in to silence; all was serene and 
calm, Imt the odorous breath of the wil- 
lows smote like the subtle breath of 
an infinite sorrow upon US. 

W. 1). HOWELLS. 



The Death of the Old Squire. 

*Twas a wild, mad kind of a night, 

As black as the bottomless pit; 
The wind was howling away 

Like a bedlamite in a fit. 
Tearing the ash boughs off, 

And mowing the poplars down, 
In the meadows beyond the old flour- 
mill, 

Where yon turn off to the town. 

And the rain (well it did rain) 

Dashing against the window glass, 
And deluging on the roof, 

As the devil were come to pass; 
The gullies were running in floods 

Outside the stable door, 
And the spouts splashed from the tiles 

As they never would give„o'er. 

Lor' how the winders rattled! 

You'd almost a thought that thieves 
Were wrenching at the shutters, 

While a ceaseless pelt of leaves 
Flew to the doors in gusts; 

And I coiil d hear the beck 
-Falling so loud I knew at once 

It was up to a tall man's neck. 

We was huddling in the harness room 

By a little scrap of lire, 
And Tom, the coachman, he was there 

A' practisin' for the choir, 
But it sounded dismal, anthem did, 

For Squire was dying fast. 
And the doctor said, do what he would, 

"Squire's breaking up at last." 

The death-watch, sure enough, ticked 
loud 
Just over the old mare's head, 
Tho' he had never once been heard 



Up there since master's boy w,i< dead ; 
And the only sound, besides Tom's tune 

Was the stirring in the stalls. 
And the gnawing and the scratching 

Of the rats in the old walls. 

We couldn't hear death's foot pass by, 

But we knew t at he was near. 
And the chill rain, and the wind, and 
cold 

Made us all shake with fear; 
We listened to the clock up stairs 

Was breathing soft and low 
For the nurse s tid, at the turn of night, 

The old Squire's soul would go. 

Master had been a wildish man, 

And led a roughish life; 
Didn't he shoot the Bowton Squire 

Who dared write to his wife? 
He beat the Kads at Hindon town, 

I heard in twenty-nine, 
Where every pail in market-place 

Was brimmed with red port wine. 

And as for huntiug, bless your soul! 

Why for forty years or more 
He'd kept the marly hounds, 

Man, as his father did afore; 
And now to die and in his bed — 

The season just begun — 
"It made him fret" the doctor said, 

As it might do any one. 

And when the young, sharp lawyer 
came 

To see him sign his will, 
Squire made me blow my horns 

As we were going to kill; 
And we turned n the hounds out in the 
court 

— That seemed to do him good; 
For he swore, and sent us off to seek 

The fox in Thornhill wood. 

But then the fever it rose high 

And he would see the room 
Where mistress died ten years ago 

When lammas-tide shall come; 
I mind the year because our mare 

At Salisbury broke down; 
Besides the old town hall was burned 

At Steeple Dindon town. 



1 IO 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



It might be two or half-past two, 

The wind seemed quite asleep 
Tom he was off, but I awake, 

Sat watch and ward to keep; 
The moon was up quite glorious like, 

The rain no longer fell, 
When all at onee out clashed and clang- 
ed 

The rusty turret bell. 

That hadn't been heard for twenty year 

Not since the luddite days 
Tom he leaped up and I leaped up, 

For all the house ablaze 
Had sure not scared us half so much 

and out we ran like mad, 
I, Tom and Joe, the whipperin, 

And the little stable lad. 

"He's killed himself" that's the idea 

That came into my head; 
I felt as sure as tho' I saw 

Squire Barrowly was dead 
When all at once the door llew back 

And he met us face to face; 
His scarlet cloak was on his back, 

And he looked, like the old race. 

The nurse was clinging to his knees 

And crying like a child; 
The maids were sobbing on the stairs 

For he looked fierce and wild; 
"Saddle me lightning Bess my men," 

That's what he said to me; 
"The moon is up, we're sure to find 

At Stop or Etterly. 

"Get out the dogs I'm well tonight 

And young again and sound, 
I'll have a run once more, before 

They put me under ground; 
They brought my father home feet first 

And it never shall be said 
That his son Joe, who rode so straight 

Died quietly in his bed. 

"Brandy!" he cried; a tumbler full 
You women howling there," 

Then clapped the old black velvet cap 
Upon his long gray hair, 

Thrust on his boots, snatched down 
his whip, 
Though he was old ami weak; 



There was a devil in his eye 
That would not let me speak. 

We loosed the dogs to humor him, 

And sounded on the horn; 
The moon was up above the woods 

Just east of Baggart Bourne. 
I buckled Lightning's throat-lash, fast:. 

The Squire was watching me; 
He let the stinups down himself 

So quick yet carefully. 

Then he got up and spurred the mare 

And ere I well could mount, 
He drove the yard gate open, man, 

And called to old Dick Blount, 
Our huntsman, dead five years ago — 

For the fever rose again, 
And was spreading like a flood of flame,. 

Fast up into his brain. 

Then off he flew before the dogs, 
YelLng to call us on, 

While we stood there all pale and dumb- 
Scarce knowing he was gone; 

We mounted and below the hill 
W T e saw the fox break out 

And down the covert ride we heard, 
The old Squire's parting shout, 

And in the moon lit mea ow mist 

We saw him fly the rail 
Beyond the hurdles by the beck, 

Just half way down the vale; 
I saw him breast fence after fence 

Nothing could turn him back, 
And in the moonlight after him 

Streamed out the brave old pack 

Twice like a dream, Tom cried to me i 

As we rode free and fast, 
Hoping to turn him at the brook, 

That could not well be passed, 
For it was swollen with the rain; 

But ah! 'twas nut to be; 
Nothing could stop old Lightning Bess 

But the broad breast of the sea. 

The hounds swept on and well in front 
The mare had got her stride; 

She broke across the fallow land 
That runs by the down side, 

We pulled up on Linton hill 
And, as we stood us there 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



i i 



Two fields beyond we saw the Squire 
Fall stone dead from the mare. 

Then she swept on and in full ery 

The hounds went out of sight; 
A cloud came over the broad moon 

And something dimmed our sight, 
As Tom and I bore master home, 

Both speaking under breath: 
And that's the way the old Squire 

Rode boldly to his death. 

Anon. 



What made the Judge compromise with the law- 

"Old man the charge is assaulting 

An officer of the court, 
And resisting the execution 

Of a warrant (says the report). 
In a suit for rent nonpayment, 

By a Mistress Mary Lee. 
Are you guilty or not guilty? 

I am ready to hear your plea." 

"Well Judge I spec's ise guilty 
On medgerment by de law 

On what I done to de genleman 

An jedgiu hit in de raw; 
But, Jedge when you hears de state- 
ment 
How de fracus cum ter be, 
I hopes you'll make de sentence 

As light as yer can on me. 

Ye see Miss Mary is sickly, 

A puny mite of a ting, 
An loss her kind good husban' 

Bout a year ago last spring. 
D^y was poor an Libbin skimpy 

On the little he earned at law 
Cause dey natually lost dere fortune 

At de bustin up of de wah. 

Aud since marse he was taken 

An left her all aloue, 
She aint had but almost nuffin 

Dat she could call her own, 
An me an my old woman 

A knovvin her since she's born, 
Divided our rashuns wid her, 

Tew help her off an on. 

Butyestday mawnin early 
Wen dis bailiff cum too han, 



An swore he was goin to lebby 
On her every pot and pan, 

I beckon him round de corner, 
An axed him don't be brash, 

An I'll rake up der money 
By pawnin some of my trash. 

But he would'nt wait fur a minute, 

An >a\ dat she had ter go — 
Dat he should seize the premiss 

An batten up de doah! 
Den Judge I fergot he was bailiff, 

An sarvan a writ of cote — 
Fer my heart and mem'ry tangled 

And lodged heah in my thjte! 

Fer I seed dat bailiff a liven' 

From long befo de wah 
In a house old marstergib him 

To sheltah his poor old ma; 
An de Ian' he had fer nothin' 

On de oder side de creek — 
An me a totin em rations 

Ders suahly ebery week. 

And de way dis bailiff was actin 

To old Marse only chile, 
He made my hands feel savage 

An all my blood to bile! 
I forgot bout Court and Cullers 

And de case want none ob mine, 
I was back on de old plantation 

An actin on dat line. 

An dat am de reas >n exactly 

I could'nt keep under cheek, 
But took him up by de slack-ban 

An by his scrawny neck 
An lifted him ober. de pickets, 

But dar I lost my grip, 
An dats what made him I reckon 

Hit her pavement so ker plip. 

"That will do" the Judge said dryly. 

"Code, section eighteen — ten — 
Some ass put that here likiy, 

But you'r discharged old Ben! 
Put up that window bailiff — 

Its too warm here for me! 
Mr. Clerk, say "lined live dollars," 

And here's your green old V." 

Sam Small 



1 1 2 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Marion s Dinner. 
They sat on the trunk of a fallen pine, 

And their plate was a piece of bark 
And the sweet potatoes were superfine 

Tho' bearing the embers' mark; 
But Tom with the sleeve of his cotton 
shirt 

The embers had brushed away 
And then to the biook with, a step alert 

He hied on that gala day. 

The British officer tried to eat 

But hist nerves were out of tune. 
And ill at ease on his novel seat 

While absent both knife and spoon. 
Said he, "You give me but lenton fare. 

fs the table thus always slim? 
Perhaps with a Briton you will not 
share 

The cup with a flowing brim." 

Then Marion put the potatoes down 

On the homely plate of bark. 
He had to smile for he eould not frown 

While gay as the morning lark. 
••'Tis a royal feast I provide to-day 

Cpon roots we rebels dine, 
And in freedom's service we draw no 
pay. 

Is that code of ethics thine?" 

Then with Hashing eye and heaving 
breast 
He looked to the azure sky, 
And said he with a firm, undaunted 
crest, 
'•Our trust is in God on high. 
The hard, hard ground is a downy bed 

And hunger its fangs foregoes, 
And noble and firm is the soldiar's 
tread % 
In the face of Bis country's foes," 

The officer gazed on that princely brow 

Where valor and beauty shone, 
And upon that fallen pine, his vow 

Weut up to his Maker's throne. 
•T will draw no sword against men like 
the* 

It would drop from a nerveless hand. 
And the very blood In my heart would 
freeze 

J I' J faced such a Spartan band." 



From Marion's camp, with a saddened 
mien, 

He hastened with awe away; 
The sons of Anak his eyes had seen, 

Anil a giant race were they. 
No more in the tented field was he; 

And rich was the truth he learned, 
That men Avho could starve for liberty, 

Can neither be crushed or spurned. 
Edward C. Jones. 



Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud? 

BY AVILLIAM KNOX. 

[This poem was a great favorite with Presi- 
dent Liucoln.] 

O, why should the spirit of mortal be 
proud? 

Like a swift fleeting meteor, a fast fly- 
ing cloud, 

A flash of the lightning, a break of the 
wave, 

Man passes from life to his rest in the 
grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow 

shall fade, • 
Be scattered around and together be 

laid; 
And the young and the old, and the low 

and the high, 
Shall moulder to dust and together 

shall die. 

The infant, a mother attended and 

loved, 
The mother that infant's affection who 

proved; 
The husband that mother and infant 

who blessed. 
Each, all, are away to their dwellings 

of rest. 

The maid on whose cheek, on whose 
brow, in whose eye 

Shone beauty and pleasure — her tri- 
umphs are by; 

And the memory of those who loved 
her and praised 

Are alike from the minds of the living 
erased. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre 
hath borne; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



ii3 



The brow of the priest that the mitre 

hath worn; 
The eye of the sage and the heart of 

the brave, 
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the 

grave. 

The peasant, whose lot was to sow and 

to reap; 
The herdsman, who climed with his 

goats up the steep; 
The beggar, who wandered in serch of 

his bread, 
Have faded away like the grass that we 

tread, 

The saint who enloyed the communion 

of heaven, 
The sinner who dared to remain un- 

forgiven, 
The wise and the foolish, the guilty and 

just, 
Have quietly mingled their bones in 

the dust. 
So the multitude goes, like the flower 

and the weed, 
That wither away to let others succeed; 
So the multitude comes, even those we 

behold, 
To repeat every tale that hath often 

been told. 

For we are the same things our fathers 

have been; 
We see the same sights our fathers have 

seen 
We drink the same stream, and we feel 

the same sun, 
And run the same course our fathers 

have run. 

The thoughts we are thinking our fa- 
thers would think; 

The death we are shrinking from, they 
too would shrink; 

To the life we are clinging to, they, 
too, would cling; 

But it speeds from the earth like a 
bird on th*-; wing. 

They loved, but their story we can not 
unfold; • 

8 



They scorned, but the heart of the 
haughty is col I; 

They grieved, but no wail from their 
slumbers will come; 

They joyed, but the voice of their glad- 
ness is dumb. 

They died— ay! they died; and we things 
that are now, 

Who walk on the turf that lies over 
their brow, 

Who make in their dwellings a tran- 
sient abode, 

Meet the changes they made on their 
pilgrimage road. 

Yea, hope and despondence and pleas- 
ure and pain 

Are mingled together in sunshine and 
rain; 

And the smile and the tear, the song 
and the dirge, 

Still follow each other, like surge upon 
surge. 

'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught 
of a breath, 

From the blossom of health to the pale- 
ness of death, 

From the gilded "saloon to the bier and 
the shroud — 

O, why should the spirit of mortal be 
proud? 



The Seventh Plague ef Egypt. 

'Twas morn — the rising splendor rolled 
On marble towers and roofs of gold; 
Hall, court aud gallery, below, 
Were crowded with a living flow; 
Egyptian, Arab, Nubian, there, — 
The bearers of the bow and spear, 
The hoary priest, the Chaldee sage, 
The slave, the gemmed and glittering 

page- 
Helm, turban and tiara shone 
A dazzling rib ground Pharaoh's throne. 

There came a man — the human tide 
Shrank backward from his stately 

stride: 
His cheek with storm and time was tan- 
ned; 



114 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



A shepherd's stall" was in his hand: 
A shudder of instinctive fear 
Told the dark king what step was near; 
On through the host the stranger came, 
It parted round his form like flame. 

He stopped not at the foot-stool stone, 
He clasped not sandal, kissed not throne; 
Erect he stood amid the ring, 
His only words— "Be just, oh king!" 
On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flushed 

high, 
A fire was in his sullen eye; 
Yet on the chief of Israel 
No arrow of his thousands fell; 
All mute and moveless as the grave 
Stood chilled the satrap and the slave. 

"Thou'rt come," at length the monarch 

spoke. 
Haughty and high the words outbroke; 
"Is Israel weary of its lair, 
The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare? 
Take back the answer to your band: 
Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand! 
Go vilest of the living vile, 
To build the never-ending pile, 
Till, darkest of the nameless dead, 
The vulture on their flesh is fed! 
What better asks the howling slave 
Than the base life our bounty gave?" 

Shouted in pride the turbaned peers, 
Upclashed to heaven the golden spears. 
"King! thou and thine are doo ned! — 

Behold!" 
The prophet spoke — the thunder rolled! 
Along the pathway of the sun 
Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun. 
"Yet there is time," the prophet said: 
He raised his staff— the storm was stay- 
ed; 
"King! be the word of freedom given: 
What art thou, man, to war with 
Heaven?" 

There came no word — the thunder 

broke! 
Like- a huge city's final smoke; — 
Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame, 
Through court and hall the vapors came. 
Loose as the stubble in the field, 
Wide flew the men of spear and shield; 



Scattered like foam along the wave, 

Flew the proud pageant, prince and 
slave: 

Or, in the chains of terror bound, 

Lay corpse-like, on the smouldering 
ground. 

"Speak, king! — the wrath is but be- 
gun!— 

Still dumb?— then, Heaven, thy will be 
clone!" 

Echoed from earth a hollow roar 

Like ocean on the midnight shore! 

A sheet of lightning o'er them wheeled, 

The solid ground beneath them reeled; 

In dust sank roof and battlement; 

Like w r ebs the giant walls were rent. 

Red, broad, before his startled gaze 

The monarch saw his Egypt blaze. 

Still swelled the plague — the flame 
grew pale; 

Burst from the clouds the charge of 
hail— 

With arrowy keenness, iron weight. 

Down poured the ministers of fate; 

Till man and cattle crushed, congealed, 

Covered with death the boundless field. 

Still swelled the plague — uprose the 

blast, 
The avenger, fit to be the last; 
On ocean, river, forest, vale, 
Thundered at once the mighty gale. 
Before the whirlwind flew the tree, 
Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea; 
A thousand ships were on the wave — 
Where are they? — ask that foaming 

grave ! 
Down go the hope, the pride of years, 
Down go the myriad mariners; 
The riches of earth's richest zone 
Gone! like flash of lightning, gone! 

And lo! that first fierce triumph o'er, 
Swells ocean on the shrinking shore; 
Still onward, onward, dark and wide, 
Engulfs the land the furious tide. 
Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn king, 
Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting; 
Humbled before the prophet's knee, 
He groaned, "Be injured Israel free!" 

To heaven the sage upraised his wand ; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



"S 



Back rolled the deluge from the land: 
Back to its caverns sank the gale; 
Fled from the noon the vapors pale; 
Broad burnedTagainst the joyous sun: 
The hour of wrath and death was done. 
Geokge Croly. 



The Drummer Boy of Mission Ridge- 

Did you ever hear of the Drummer boy 

of Mission Ridge who lay 
With his face to the foe, 'neath the 

enemy's guns, in the charge of 

that terrible day? 
They were tiring above him and tiring 

below, and the tempest of "shot 

and shell 
Was raging lire death, as he moaned 

in his pain, by the breastworks 

where he fell. 

"Go back with your corps," the colonel 
had said, but he waited the mo- 
ment when 

He might follow the ranks and shoulder 
a gun with the best of us bearded 
men: 

And so when the signals from old Fort 
Wood set an army of veterans 
wild, 

He flung down his drum which spun 
down the hill like the ball of a 
wayward child. 

And then he fell in with the foremost 

ranks of brave old company G, 
As we charged by the flank, with our 

colors ahead, and our columns 

closed up like a V, 
In the long, swinging lines of that 

splendid advance, when the flags 

of our corps floated out, 
Like the ribbons that dance in the 

jubilant lines of the march of a 

gala day route. 

He charged with the ranks, though he 
carried no gun, for the colonel 
had said him nay, 

And he breasted the blast of the brist- 
ling guns, and the shock of the 
sickening fray; 



And when by his side they were falling 

like hail he sprang to a comrade 

slain, 
And shouldered his musket and bore it 

as true as the hand that was dead 

in pain. 
'Twas dearly we loved him, our Drum- 
mer Boy, with a tire in his bright, 

black eye, 
That flashed forth a spirit too great for 

his form, he only was just so high — 
As tall, perhaps, as your little lad who 

scarcely reaches your shoulder — 
Though his heart was the heart of a 

veteran then, a trifle, it may be 

bolder. 
He pressed to the front, our lad so leal, 

and the works were almost won, 
A moment more and our flags had 

swung o'er the muzzle of mur- 
derous gun; 
But a raking Are swept the van, and he 

fell 'mid the wounded and slain, 
With his wee, wan face turned up to 

Him who feeleth His children's 

pain. 

Again and again our lines fell back, 
and again with shivering shocks 

They flung themselves on the rebels' " 
works as ships are tossed on rocks; 

To be crushed and broken and scatter- 
ed amain, a6 the wrecks of the 
surging storm, 

Where none may rue and none may- 
reek of aught that has human 
form. 

So under the Ridge we were lying for 

the order to charge again, 
And we counted our comrades missing, 

and we counted our comrades 

slain; 
And one said, "Johnny, our Drummer 

Boy, is greviously shot and lies 
Just under the enemy's breastwork; 

left on the held he dies." 

Then all the-blood that was in me surg- 
ed up to my aching brow, 

And my heart leaped up like a ball in 
my throat, I can feel it even now, 



u6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



And I said I would bring that boy from 
the field, if God would spare my 
breath, 

If all the guns in Mission Ridge should 
thunder the threat of death. 

I crept, and crept up the ghastly ridge, 

by the wounded and the dead, 
With the moans of my comrades right 

and left, behind mo and yet ahead, 
Till I came to the form of our Drummer 

Boy, in his blouse of dusty blue, 
With his face to the foe, 'neath the 

enemy's guns, where the blast of 

the battle blew. 

And his gaze as he met my own just 

there would have melted a heart 

of stone, 
As he tried like a w^ounded bird to rise, 

and placed his hand in my own; 
And he said in a voice half smothered, 

though its whispering thrills me 

yet, 

"I think n a moment more that I 
would have stood on that parapet. 

"But now I nevermore will climb, and, 

Sergeant, when you see 
'The men go up those breastworks there 

just stop and w?,ken me; 
For though I cannot make the charge 

and join the cheers that rise, 
I may forget ray pain to see the old flag 

kiss the skies." 

Well, it was hard to treat him so, his 

poor limb shattered sore, 
But I raised him on my shoulder and to 

the surgeon bore, 
And the boys who saw us coming each 

gave a shout of joy, 
And uttered fervent prayers for him, 

our valiant Drummer Boy. 

When sped the news that . " Fighting 

Joe" had saved the Union right, 
With his legends fresh from Lookout; 

and that Thomas massed his 

might, 
And forced the rebel centre; and our 

cheering ran like wild; 



And Sherman's heart was happy as the 

heart of a little child, 
When Grant from his lofty outlook saw 

our flags by the huncfred fly 
Along the slopes of Mission Ridge, 

where'er he cast his eye; 
And when we heard the thrilling news 

of the mighty battle done, 
The fearful contest ended, and the 

glorious victory won; 

Then his bright, black eyes so yearning 
grew strangely rapt and wild; 

And in that hour of conquest our little 
hero died. 

But .ever in our hearts he dwells, with 
a grace that ne'er is old, 

For him the heart to duty wed can 
nevermore grow cold! 

And.when they tell of heroes, and the 
laurels they have won, 

Of the scars they are doomed to carry, 
of the deeds that they have done; 

Of the horror to be biding among the 
ghastly dead, 

The gory sod beneath them, the burst- 
ing shell o'er head; 

My heart goes back to Mission Ridge 

and the Drummer Boy who lay 
With his face to the foe, 'neath the 

enemy's guns, in the charge of 

that terrible day; 
And I say that the laud that bears such 

sons is crowned and dowered 

with all 
The dear God giveth nations to stay 

them lest they fall. 
Go, glory of Mission iiidge, stream on» 

like the roseate light of morn 
On the sons that now are living, on the 

sons that are yet unborn! 
And cheers for our comrades living, 

and tears as they pass away! 
And three times three for the Drummer 

Boy who fought at the front that 

day! 



The Squire's Bargain. 
Come, all who love a merry jest, and. 
listen while I tell 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



117 



A tale of what in ancient days, the good 
old times, befell; 

How greed and cunning both were foil- 
ed by siuple mother-wit, 

And he who went abroad to spoil, re- 
turned, the biter bit. 

Was once an ancient manor-house, and 
Squire of high degree; 

A true and fearless heart was his, an 
open hand and free. 

Content amid his own, he lived in pa- 
triarchal state, 

And cheerily welcomed all within his 
hospitable gate. 

High in the neighboring valley rose 

an abbey's towers fair; 
Its bells rang morning, noon, and night, 

to call the monks to prayer. 
And some were good and holy men, 

but some, we needs must say, 
In idle pleasures, lust of gold, passed 

all their lives away. 

The Abbot cast a longing eye upon his 

neighbor's iield, 
Which year by year, the richest crops 

abundantly did yield; 
•'This land shall yet be mine," he said, 

"my right shall none gainsay; 
The Abbot's word is worth a Squire's 

on any summer's day." 

Now see our lordly Prelate mid a pile 

of parchments sit, 
And twist each clause until he finds a 

quibble that will tit. 
"Eureka!" Writs and summonses, and 

so the thing is done. 
Before the Squire has time to think, the 

cause is lost and won. 

Ah! now the triumph: "Yours no more 

this field to plow or sow, 
Good neighbor, where you scattered 

seed, my monks shall reap and 

mow." 
The Squire bowed low; "For me, if so, 

it is a woful day, 
As, loyal still to king and law, I dare 

not say you nay. 



"So, since the land I loved is gone, its 
loss I will not weep, 

But only beg this little boon, one crop 
to sow and reap, 

But one, and when 'tis ripe to fall be- 
neath the mower's hand, 

Content, I'll yield my ancient rights, 
give up my father's land." 

"Why, no great boon," the Abbot 

thought. Then loud, "I do agree, 
And then when once more sown and 

reaped, that iield belongs to me." 
'Twas signed and sealed. Well pleased 

withal, the Abbot homeward 

rode. 
The Squire his men together called, the 

field they plowed and sowed. 

'Twas autumn when the seed was 

sown, and soon the winter's snow 
Came down o'er all, to keep it warm, 

his white fur coat to throw; 
And slow and sad the days went past, 

came frost aud sleet and rain; 
Then sunshine in the soft blue skies, 

and spring was come again. 

Oh! merry were the children then; the 

young lambs leaped in play; 
The skylark carolled o'er the clouds, 

the robin from the spray; 
The swelling buds grew green and 

burst on field and forest tree, 
And daisies white and violets were 

laughing on the lea, 

The rivers ran, the fields began to don 

their dress of green — 
And soon the monks went peering 

round the Squire's old laud, I 

ween, 
Their Abbot too, the Hodge, his man, 

to see what had been sown, 
And guess, if eaily grain or late, what 

time it should be mown. 

The crop was green; the}' gazed, they 
sniffed: "Ha! what new blade is 
lure?" 

Not wheat nor barley, oats or rye! So 
much, at least, is clear. 

What seed was this? "The Squire," 



US 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



grinned Hodge, "has played you 
all a hoax. 
To judge, Lord Abbot, by the leaf, 'tis 
sown with seed of oaks." 

The Abbot raged, the Abbot stormed, 

his wrath was all in vain, 
For signed and sealed, in olack and 

white, the contract told it plain, 
That, when the crop was ripe to fall 

beneath the mower's hand, 
Then only should the Squire be called 

to yield the monks his land. 

Now for our monks and merry Squire, 
not much remains to tell. 

The years rolled past, the abby towers 
in crumbling ruins fell, 

Then centuries, till monk nor friar were 
found in all the land, 

But still that field of oaks remain un- 
touched by mower's hand. 

E. M. Treaquair. 



Jem's Last Bide. 

High o'er the snow-capped peaks of 

blue the stars are out to-night, 
And the silver crescent moon hangs low. 

1 watched it on my right, 
Moving above the pine-tops tall, a bright 

and gentle shape, 
While I listened to - the tales you told of 

peril and escape. 

Then, mingled with your voices low, I 

heard the rumbling sound 
Of wheels adown the farther slope, that 

sought the level ground; 
And, suddenly, from memories that 

never can grow dim, 
Flashed out once more the day w r hen 

last I rode with English Jem. 

Twas here, in wild Montana, I took my 
hero's gauge! 

From Butte to Deer Lodge, four-in- 
hand, he drove the mountain 
stage; 

And many a time, in sun or storm, safe 
mounted at his side, 

I whiled away with pleasant talk the 
long day's weary ride. 



Jem's faithful steeds had served him 
long, of mettle true and tried, 

One sought in vain for trace of blo<vs 
upon their glossy hide; 

And to each low command he spoke, 
the leader's nervous ear 

Bent eager, as a lover waits his mist- 
ress's voice to hear. 

With ringing crack the leathern whip, 

that else had idly hung, 
Kept time for many a rapid mile to 

English songs he sung; 
And yet, despite his smile, he seemed a 

lonely man to be, 
With not one soul to claim him kin on 

this side of the sea. 

But after I had known him long, one 

mellow evening time 
He told me of his English Rose, who 

withered in her prime; 
And how, within the churchyard green, 

he laid her down to rest 
With her sweet babe, a blighted bud, 

upon her frozen breast. 

"I could not stay," he said, "where she 

had left me all alone! 
The ver} T hedge-rose that she loved, I 

could not look upon! 
I could not hear the mavis sing, or see 

the long grass wave, 
And every little daisy-bank seemed but 

my darling's grave! 

"Yet, somehow — why, I cannot tell — 

but when I wandered here, 
I seemed to b"ing her with me, too, that 

once had been so dear! 
I love these mountain summits, where 

the world is in the sky, 
For she is in it, too — my love! — and so I 

bring her nigh." 

Next week I rode with Jem again. The 

coach was full that day, 
And there were little children there, 

that pleased us with their play. 
A sweet-faced mother brought her pair 

of rosy, bright-eyed girls, 
And boy, like one I left at home, with 

silken yellow curls. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



119 



We took fresh horses at Girard's, and 

as he led them out — 
A vicious pair they seemed to me — I 

heard the hostler shout, 
"You always want good horses, Jem! 

Now you shall have your way! 
Try these new beauties; for we sold 

your old team yesterday!" 

O'er clean-cut limb aud sloping flank, 

arched neck and tossing head, 
I marked Jem run his practiced eye, 

though not a word he said; 
Yet, as he clambered to his seat, and 

took the reins once more, 
I saw a look upon his face it had not 

worn before. 

The hostler open flung the gates.' 'Now, 

Tempest, show your pace!" 
He cried. And with a careless hand he 

struck the leader's face. 
The horse, beneath the sportive blow, 

reared as if poison stung, 
And, with his panic stricken mates, to 

a mad gallop sprung! 

We thundered through the gate, and 
out upon the stony road; 

From side to side the great coach lurch- 
ed, with all its priceless load; 

Some cried aloud for help, and some, 
with terror frozen tongue, 

Clung, bruised and faint in every limb, 
the weaker to the strong! 

And men who oft had looked on death, 

unblanched, by flood or field, 
When every nerve, to do and dare, by 

agony was steeled, 
Now moaned aloud, or gnashed their 

teeth in helpless rage, 
To die, at whim of maddened brutes, 

like vermin in a cage! 

Too well, alas! too I knew the awful 
way wc went; 

The little stretch of level road, and 
then the steep descent; 

The boiling stream that seethed and 
roared far down the rocky ridge, 

With death, like old Horatius,grim wait- 
ing at the bridge! 



But, suddenly, above the din, a voice 

rang loud aud clear, 
We knew it well, the driver's voice — 

without one note of fear! 
Some strong, swift angel's lips might 

thrill such a clarion cry; 
The voice of one who put for aye all 

earthly passion by. 

"Still! for your lives, and listen! See 

yon faimhouse by the way, 
And piled along the field in front the 

shocks of new mown hay! 
God help me turn my horses there! And 

when I give the word, 
Leap on the hay! Pray, every soul, to 

Him who Israel heard!" 

Within, the coach was still! 'Tis 

strange, but never till I die, 
Shall I forget the fields that day, the 

color of the sky, 
The summer bieeze that brought the 

first sweet perfume of the hay, 
The bobolink, hat in the grass would 

sing its life away. 

One breathless moment bridged the 

space that lay between, and then 
Jem drew upon the straining reins 

with all the strength of ten! 
"Hold fast t lie babes!" More close I 

clasped the fair boy at my side. 
"Let every nerve be steady now!" and 

"Jump for life!" he cried, 

Saved! every soul! Oh! dizzy— sweet 

life rushed in every vein, 
To us, who from that fragrant bed rose 

up to hope again! 
But, 'mid the smiles and grateful tears 

that mingled on each cheek, 
A sudden, questioning horror grew, 

that none would dare to speak! 

Too soon the answer struck our ears! 

One moment's hollow roar 
Of flying hoofs upon the bridge — an 

awful crash that tore 
The very air in twain — and then 

through all the world grown still, 
I only heard the bobolink go singing 

at his will! 



120 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



I was tlu 1 first man down the cliff. 
There's little left to tell! 

We found him lying, breathing yet and 
conscious, where he fell. 

The question in his eager eyes I an- 
swered with a word: 

"Safe!" Then he smiled and whisper- 
ed low some words I scarcely 
heard . 

We would have raised him, but his lips 

grew white with agony. 
"Not yet! It will be over soon!" he 

whispered. "Wait with me!" 
Then— lower — smiling still! "It is my 

last ride, friends; but I 
Have done my duty, aud God knows I 

do not fear to die!" 

He closed his eyes. We watched his 

life slip like an ebbing tide, 
Far out upon the Infinite, where all 

our hopes abide. • 
He spoke but once again, a name not 

meant for mortal ears — 
"My Rose!" She must have heard that 

call amid the singing spheres! 
Mary A. Stansbury. 



The Singer's Alms. 

HENRY E. ABBEY. 

In Lyons, in the mart of that French 
town, 
Years since, a woman leading a fair 
child. 
Craved a small alms of one who, walk- 
ing down 
The thoroughfare, caught the child's 
glance and smiled 
To see, behind its eyes, a noble soul. 
He paused, but found he had no coin 
to dole. 

His guardian angel warned him not to 
lose 
This chance of pearl to do another 
good ; 
So, as he waited, sorry to refuse 
The asked-for penny, there aside he 
stood, 



And with his hat held as limb the 

nest, 
He covered his kind face, and sang 

his best. 

The sky was blue above, and all the 
lane 
Of commerce, where the singer stood 
was tilled, 
And many paused, and, listening paus- 
ed again 
To hear the voice that through and 
through them thrilled. 
I think the guardian angel helped 

along 
That cry for pity woven in a song. 

The singer stood between the beggars 
there, 
Before a church, and overhead the 
spire, 
A slim, perpetual finger in the air 
Held toward heaven, land of the 
heart's desire — 
As if an angel, pointing up, had 

said: 
"Yonder a crown awaits this sing- 
er's head." 

The hat of its stamped brood was emp- 
tied soon 
Into the woman's- lap, who drenched 
with tears 
Her kiss upon the hand of help; 'twas 
noon, 
And noon in her glad heart drove 
forth her fears. 
The singer, pleased, passed on and 

softly thought, 
"Men will not know by whom this 
deed was wrought. 

But when at night he came upon the 
stage, 
Cheer after cheer went up from that 
wide throng, 
And flowers rained on him; naught 
could assuage 
The tumult of the welcome, save the 
song 
That he had sweetly sung, with 
covered face, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



21 



For the two beggars in the market- 
place. 

Antietam. 

[By permission of the author] 

[Dedicated to the Blue and the Gray.) 

SHERMAN D. RICHARDSON. 

I've wandered o'er Antietam, John, 

And stood where foe met foe 
Upon the fields of Maryland, 

So many years ago. 
The circling hills rise just the same, 

As they did on that day, 
When you were fighting Blue, old boy, 

And I was fighting Gray. 

The winding stream runs 'neath the 
bridge, 

Where Burnside won his fame; 
The locust trees upon the ridge 

Beyond are there the same, 
The birds were siugiug 'mid the trees- 

'Twas bullets on that day, 
When you were fighting Blue, old boy 

And I was fighting Gray. 

I saw again the D linker Church, 

That stood beside the wood, 
Where Hooker made the famous 
charge, 
That Hill so well withstood. 
c Tis scarred and marred by war and 

time, 
As we are, John, to-day; 

For you were fighting Blue, old 
boy. 
As I was lighting Gray. 

I stood beneath the signal tree, 

Where I that day was laid, 
And 'twas your arms, old boy, that 

brought 
Me to t lis friendly shade. 

'Tho leaves are gone, and limbs are 
bare, 
Its heart is true to-day, 

As yours was then, 'tho fighting 

Blue, 
To me, 'tho fighting Gray. 

I marked the spot where Mansfield 
fell, 



Where Richardson was -lain, 
With Stark and Douglas mid the corn, 

And Brand amid the grain. 
Their names are sacred to us, John, 

They led us in the fray, 
When you were lighting Northern 
Blue, 

And I the Southern Gray. 

I thought of Burnside, Hooker, 
Meade, 

Of Sedgwick old and brave; 
Of Stonewall Jackson tried and true, 

That strove the da}* to save. 
I bared my head, they rest in peace, 

Each one has passed away; 
Death musters those who wove the 
Blue, 

With those who wore the Gray. 

The old Pry Mansion rears its walls, 

Beside Antietam's stream, 
And far away along the south. 

I saw the tombstones gleam. 
They mark each place where little 

Mac, 
And Robert Lee that da}*, 

Made proud the South tho' wearing 
Blue— 
And North tho' wearing Gray. 

Yes John, it gave me joy to stand, 
Where we once liercely fought 

The nation now is one again — 
The lesson has been taught. 

Sweet peace doth fair Antietam 
crown, 
And we can say to-day, 
We're friends, tho' one was fighting 
Blue, 

And one was liffhtino; Gray. 



The Bells. 

Hear the sledges wilh the bells- 
Silver bells! 

What a world of merriment 
melody foretells! 

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
In the icy air of night! 

While stars that oversprinkle 

All the heavens seem to twinkle 
N\ ith a crystalline delight; 



their 



122 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Keeping time, time, time, 

In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the tintinnabulation that so musical- 
ly wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
Bells, bells, bells— 

From the jingling and the tinkling of 
the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells — 

Golden bells! 
What a world of happiness their har- 
mony foretells! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight! 
From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 
What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while 
she gloats 
On the moon! 
Oh! from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously 
wells ! 
How it swells! 
How it dwells 
On the future! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 

Of the bells, bells, bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells bells, 

Bells, bells, bells— 
To the rhyming and the chiming of the 
bells! 

Hear the loud alarum belis — 

Brazen bells! 
What a tale of terror, now, their 

turbulency tells! 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright! 
Too much horrified to speak, 
They can only shriek, shriek, 
Out of tune, 
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy 

of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf 
and frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
With a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, 



Now — now to sit or never, 

By the side of the pale-faced moon. 

O, the bells bells bells! 

What a tale their terror tells — 
Of despair! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar! 
What a horror they outpour 

On the bosom of the palpitating air! 

Yet the ear, it fully knows, 

By the twanging, 

And the clanging, 
How the danger ebbs and flows; 
Yet the ear distinctly tells, 

In the jangling 

And the wrangling 
How the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the 
anger of the bells — 
Of the bells— 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 

Bells, bells, bells — 
In the clamor and the clangor of the 
bells! 

Hear the tolling of the bells — 

Iron bells! 
What a world of solemn thought their 
monody compels! 

In the silence of the night, 

How we shiver with affright, 
At the melancholy menace of their tone! 

For every sound that floats 

From the rust within their throats 
Is a groan. 

And the people — ah, the people— 

They that dwell up in the steeple, 
All alone. 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling 

On the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman — 
They are neither brute nor human — 

They are Ghouls. 
And their king it is who tolls; 
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 

A paean from the bells! 
And his merry bosom swells 

With the paean of the bells! 
And he dances and he yells: 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



2$ 



Keeping time, time, time. 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the psean of the bells — 
Of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time, 
In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the throbbing of the bells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, 

To the sobbing of the bells; 
Keeping time, time, time, 

As he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme, 

To the rolling of the bells 
Of the bells, bells, bells, 

To the tolling of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- 
Bells, bells, bells, 
To the moaning and the groaning of the 
bells. 

Edgar A. Poe. 



The Creeds of the Bells. 

From "Demorestfs Monthly." 

How sweet the chime qf the Sabbath 

bells! 
Each one its creed in music tells, 
In tones that float upon the air, 
As soft as song, as pure as prayer; 
And I will put in simple rhyme 
The language of the golden chime; 
My happy heart with rapture swells 
Responsive to the bells, sweet bells. 

"In deeds of love excel! excel!" 
Chimed out from ivied towers a bell; 
"This is the church not built on sands, 
Emblem of one not built with hands; 
Its forms and sacred rites revere, 
Come worship here! come worship 

here! 
In rituals and faith excel!" 
Chimed out the Episcopalian bell. 

"Oh heed the ancient landmarks well!" 
In solemn tones exclaimed a bell; 
"No progress made by mortal man 
Can change the just eternal plan: 
With God there can be nothing new; 
Ignore the false, embrace the true, 
While all is well! is well! is well!" 
Pealed out the good old Dutch churck 
bell. 



"Ye purifying waters swell!" 
In mellow tones rang out a bell; 
"Though faith alone in Christ can save, 
Man must be plunged beneath the wavfe, 
To show the world unfaltering faith 
In what the Sacred Scriptures saith: 
O swell! ye rising waters, swell!" 
Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell. 

"Not faith alone, but works as well, 
Must test the soul!" said a soft bell; 
"Come here and cast aside your load, 
And work your way along the road, 
With faith in God, and faith in man, 
And hope in Christ, where hope began; 
Do well! do well! do well! do well!" 
Rang out the Unitarian bell. 

"Farewell! farewell! base world, fare- 
well!" 
In touching tones exclaimed a bell; 
"Life is a boon, to mortals given, 
To fit the soul for bliss in heaven; 
Do not invoke the avenging rod, 
Come here and learn the way to God; 
Say to the world, Farewell! farewell!" 
Pealed forth the Presbyterian bell. 

"To all, this creed, we tell! we tell!" 
Shouted in ecstasies a bell; 
"Come all ye weary wanderers, see! 
Our Lord has made salvation free! 
Repent, believe, have faith, and then 
Be saved, and praiss the Lord, Amen.! 
Salvation's free, we tell! we tell!" 
Shouted the Methodistic bell. 

"In after life there is no hell!" 
In raptures rang a cheerful bell; 
"Look up to heaven this holy day, 
Where angels wait to lead the way; 
Our blessed Savior holds the light, 
Do good to all; be just and right; 
No hell! no hell! no hell! we tell!" 
Rang out the Universalist bell. • 

"The Pilgrim Fathers heeded well 
My cheerful voice," pealed forth a bell; 
"No fetters here to clog the soul; 
No arbitrary creeds control 
The free heart and progressive mind. 
That leave the dusty past behind, 
Speed well! speed well! speed wellfc 
speed well!" 



I2 4 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Pealed out the Independent bell. 

"No pope, no pope, to doom to hell!" 
The Protestant rang out a bell; 
''Great Luther left his fiery zeal, 
Within the hearts that truly feel 
That loyalty to God will be 
The fealty t.iat makes men free. 
No images where ineense fell!" 
Raux out old Martin Luther's bell. 

"All hail, ye saints in heaven that 

dwell 
Close by the cross!" exclaimed a bell; 
"Lean o'er the battlement of bliss, 
And deign to bless a world like this; 
Let mortals kneel before this shrine — 
Adore the water and the wine! 
All hail ye saints, the chorus swell!'' 
Chimed in the Roman Catholic bell. 

! 'Ye workers who have toiled so well, 
To save the race!" said a sweet bell; 
"With pledge, and badge, and banner, 

come, 
Each brave heart beating like a drum; 
Be royal men of noble deeds, 
For love is holier than creeds; 
Drink from the well, the well, the well!" 
In rapture rang the Temperance bell. 
George W. Bungay. 



The Battle Above the Clouds. 

Therox Browx. 

By the banks of Chattanooga, watching 

with a soldier's heed, 
In the chilly, autumn morning, gallant 

Grant was on his steed, 
For the foe had climbed above him, 

with the banners of their land, 
And their canu river from 

the hills of Cumberland. 

Like a trumpet rang his orders — "How- 
ard. Thomas to the Bridge! 
One m a I the Dunbar, storm 

the heights of Mission Ridge! 
On the left, the ledges. Sherman, charge, 

I hurl the rebels down. 
Hooker, take tb okout and 

re the town.'' 

the Northern Summit, 
looked the traitors, where they lay, 



On the gleaming Union Army, marshall- 
ed as for muster day, — 

Till the sudden shout of battle thunder- 
ed upward from the farms. 

And they dropped their idle glasses, in 
a sudden rush to arms. 

Then together up the highlands, surely v 

swiftly swept the lines, 
And the clang of war above them,. 

swelledjwith loud aud louder signs,. 
Till the loyal peaks of Lookout, in the 

tempest seemed to throb, 
And the star-flag of our country soared 

in smoke o'er Orchard Knob. 

Day and night, and day returning,. 

ceaseless shock and ceaseless 

change. 
Still the furious Mountain conflict 

burst and burned along the range. 
While with battle's cloud of sulphur 

mingled heaven's mist of rain, 
Till the ascending squadron vanished 

from the gazers on the plain. 

From the boats upon the river, from 

the tents upon the shore, 
From the roofs of yonder city, anxious. 

eyes the clouds explore, 
But no rift amid the darkness shows 

them fathers, brother?, sons, 
Where they trace the viewless struggle 

by the echo of the guns. 

Upward! charge for God and country { 

up! aha, they rush, they rise, 
Till the faithful meet the i: 

the never clouded sk: 
And the battlefield is bloody, where a 

dewdrop never falls, 
For a justice for a 

tearless vengeance calls. 

And the heaven is wild with shouting; 

fiery shot and bayonet keen 
Gleam and glance where Freedom's 

angels battle in tin serene. 

Charge and volley tiercel}- follow, and 

th • tumult in the air 
Tells of right in mortal grapple with 

rebellion's strong despair. 

They have conquered! God's own le- 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



125 



prions: well their foes might be 
dismayed, 

Standing in the mountain temple, 
'gainst the terrors of his aid. 

And the elouds might fitly echo pean 
loud and parting gun, 

When from upper light and glory, sank 
the traitor host undone. 

They have conquered! Through the 
region where our brothers pluck- 
ed the palm 

Kings the noise with which they won it 
with the sweetness of a psalm. 

And our wounded siek and dying hear 
it in their crowded wards. 

And they whisper, ''Heaven is with us! 
Lo, our battle is the Lord's! 

And our famished captive heroes, lock- 
ed iu Richmond's prison hells, 

List those guns of cloudland booming, 
glad as Freedom's morning bells, 

Lift their haggard eyes, and panting 
with their cheeks against the bars, 

Feel God's breath of hope and see it 
playing with the stripes and stars. 

Tories safe in serpent treason startle as 
those airy cheers 

And that wild, ethereal war drum falls 
like doom upon their ears. 

And that rusli of cloud-borne armies, 
rolling back a nation's shame 

Frights them with its sound of judg- 
ment, and the flash of angry 
flame. 

Widows weeping by their firesides, 
loyal sires despondent grown, 

Smile to hear their country's triumph 
from the gate of heaven blown; 

And the patriot's children wonder in 
their simple hearts to know 

In the land above the thunder our em- 
battled champions go. 



Bingen on the Rhine- 

MRS. NORTON. 

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Al- 
giers, 

There was lack of woman's nursing, 
there was death of woman's tears; 



But a comrade stood beside him, while 

his life-blood ebbed away; 
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear 

what he might say. 
The dying soldier faltered, as lie took 

that comrade's hand, 
And he said, "I never more shall see 

my own, my native land: 
Take a message, and a token, to some 

distant friends of mine, 
For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen 

on the Rhine. 

"Tell my brothers and companions, 
when they meet and crowd 
around 

To hear my mournful story in the pleas- 
ant vineyard ground, 

That we fought the battle bravely, and 
when the day was done, 

Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, be- 
neath the setting sun. 

And midst the dead and dying, were 
some grown old in wars, 

The death-wound on their gallant 
breasts, the last of many scars: 

But some were young — and suddenly 
beheld life's morn decline; 

And one had come from Bingen — fair 
Bingen on the Rhine! 

"Tell my mother that her other sons 

shall comfort her old age: 
That I was aye a truant boy who 

thought his home a cage. 
For my father was a soldier, and even 

as a child 
My heart leaped forth to hear him tell 

of struggles lierce and wild; 
And when he died, aud left us to divide 

his scanty hoard, 
I let them take wdiate'er they would, 

but kept my father's sword. 
And with boyish love I hung it where 

the bright light used to shine, 
On the cottage-wall at Bingen — calm 

Bingen on the Rhine! 

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and, 
sob with drooping head, 

When the troops are marching home 
again, with glad and gallant 
tread; 



126 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



But to look upou them proudly, with a 
calm and steadfast eye, 

For her brother was a soldier too, and 
uot afraid to die. 

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask 
her in my name 

To listen to him kindly, without regret 
or shame; 

And to hang the old sword in its place 
(mj' father's sword and mine,) 

For the honor of old Bingen— dear Bin- 
gen on the Rhine! 

"There's another — not a sister: in the 
happy days gone by, 

You'd have known her by the merri- 
ment that sparkled in her eye: 

Too innocent for coquetry, — too fond 
for idle scorning, — 

Oh! friend, I fear the lightest heart 
makes sometimes heaviest mourn- 
ing: 

Tell her the last night of my life (for ere 
the moon be risen 

My body will be out of pain — my soul be 
out of prison), 

I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the 
yellow sunlight shine 

On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair 
Bingen on the Rhine! 

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along— I 
heard, or seemed to hear 

The German songs we used to sing, in 
chorus sweet and clear; 

And down the pleasant river, and up 
the slanting hill, 

The echoing chorus sounded, through 
the evening calm and still; 

And her glad blue eyes were on me as 
we passed with friendly talk 

Down many a path beloved of yore, and 
well-remembered walk, 

And her little hands lay lightly, confid- 
ing in mine: 

But we'll no more at' Bingen — loved 
Bingen on the Rhine!" 

His voice grew faint and hoarser, — his 
voice was childish weak, — 

His eyes put on a dying look, — he sigh- 
ed and ceased to speak: 



His comrade bent to lift him, but the 

spark of life had fled, — 
The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign 

land — was dead! 
The pale moon rose up slowly and 

calmly she looked down 
On the red sand of the battle-field with 

gastl} 7 corpses strewn; 
Yea! calmly on that awful scene her 

pale light seened to shine, 
As it shown on distaut Bingen — calm 

Bingen on the Rhiue. 



The Baron'e Last Banquet 

O'er a low couch the setting sun had 
thrown its latest ray, 

Where, in his last strong agony, a dying- 
warrior lay; 

The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose 
frame had ne'er been bent 

By wasting pain, till time and toil its 
iron strength had spent. 

"They come around me here, and say 

my days of life are o'er, 
That I shall mount my noble steed and 

* lead my band no more; 
They come, and to my beard they dare 

tell me now, that I, 
Their own liege lord and master born 

— that I, ha! ha! must die. 

"And what is death? I've dared him 

oft before the warrior's spear; 
Xhink ye he's entered at my gate— has 

come to seek me here? 
I've met him, faced him, scorned him y 

when the storm was raging hot; 
I'll try his might— I'll brave his power; 

defy and fear him not. 

"Ho! sound the tocsin from the tower, 

and fire the eulverin— 
Bid each retainer arm with speed — 

call every vassal in, — 
Up with my banner on the wall — the 

banquet board prepare: 
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and 

bring my armor there!" 

A hundred hands were busy then — 
the banquet forth was spread, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



127 



And rung the heavy oaken floor with 

many a martial tread; 
While, from the rich, dark tracery 

along the vaulted wall. 
Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and 

spear, in the proud old Gothic 

hall. 

Fast hurrying through the outer gate 

the mailed retainers poured 
On through the portal's frowning arch, 

and thronged around the hoard. 
While at its head, Avithin his dark, 

carved, oaken chair of state. 
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger with 

girded falchion, sate. 

"Fill every beaker np, my men, pour 

forth th n cheering wine, 
There's life aud strength in every drop 

— thanksgiving to the vine! 
Are ye all there, my vassals true? — 

mine eyes are waxing dim; 
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, 

each goblet to the brim. 

"Ye're there, but yet I see ye not. 

Draw forth each trusty sword. 
And let me hear your faithful steel 

clash once around my board: 
I hear it faintly: — Louder yet! — What 

clogs my heavy breath? 
Up all, and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance 

unto Death!' " 

Bowl rang to bowl — steel clang to steel 

— and rose a deafening cry, 
That made the torches flare around, 

and shook the flags on high: 
"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him?— Slaves, 

traitors! have ye flown? 
Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet 

him here alone? 

"But I defy him:— let him come!" 

Down rang the massy cup, 
While from its sheath the ready blade 

came flashing halfway up; 
And, with the black and heavy plumes 

scarce trembling on his head, 
There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, 

old Rudiger sat, dead. 



The Bankrupt's Visitor. 

THOMAS Dl NN ENGLISH. 

So you're the senior of the firm, the 

head 
Of the great house of Erbenetone and 
Son- 
Great house that has been. That is 
what is said 
On street, in counting rooms, by every 
one. 
That house had ships one time on every 
sea; 
But then your father with his brains 
had sway; 
His ventures millions. Come, don't 
frown at me! 
Sir I have business, and I'll have my 
say. 

Here are the firms acceptances — behold ! 
There is a list, and you may scan it 
well; 
This paper once was thought as good as 
gold; 
Now worthless if the tales be true 
they tell. 
Two hundred thousand and — well never 
mind 
The odd amount — I bought them as 
they lay 
In many hands, investments poor I find 
But still I put the question — can you 
pay? 

"The house has fallen now" — that can- 
not be; 
You've made a stumble, that is not a 
fall; 
That brings a story freshly up to me, 
We queer old fellows will such things 
recall. 
I'll tell you all about it if you will, 
There's something about it you will 

much admire; 
You'r bound to hear the story, so keep 
still- 
Its something chilly— let me stir the 
lire . 

'Twas fifty years ago, one day, a lad 



128 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Orphaned and friendless— one of 
those yon see 
Hanging about the street; some good, 

some bad — 
Walked in a counting room as bold and 

free 
As if he owned it; 'twas your father's; 
there 
He stood and waited. When your 
sire that day 
Saw him, he asked with a repellant air, 
"What do you want?" The answer — 
''Work and pay." 



Acquainted with American affairs, 
Trusty and shrewd, and send him out 
to them; 
The kind of man they sought they 
thought he knew. 
You know your father's way. He said 
—"Ahem! 
'Trusty and shrewd' — Byng, there's a 
chance for you. 

"Belden is dead; Carstairs has kept the 
name 
Of the old firm — he was its life's 
blood too — 



The merchant stared. "Boy I've no Immensely rich, and if you play the 
place for you" — game 
"Your father's manner, not his heart, You've played from boyhood, and be 
was cold — ■ just and true 
"And if I took you here what could you And diligent, and make his interest 
do?" yours 
And the boy answered, "Do as I am As you have mine so long, you'll sure- 
told." ly rise; 
Your father liked prompt speech, and .so I hate to part with you, but this secures 
inquired A certain fortune. Take it if yo're 
More of the bov — he rather liked his wise." 



face — 
And on the following day the lad was 
hired 
To run on errands and sweep the 
place. 

You were a baby then, sir; but you 
came, 
As you grew up to boyhood, rambling 
through 
The great store house. You recall the 
name 
Of Byng, the letter-clerk. I see you 
do. 
He was the errand-boy, that bit by bit 
Had risen in the house till he had 
won 
The confidence of one who had more 
wit 
In choosing servants than has shown 
his son. 

One day a letter from Calcutta came, 
From a great firm there— Belden and 

Carstairs — 
Begging your father that some clerk 

he'd name 



Byng took the advice; and then your 
father said, 
"You'll need some money, Byng, and 
here's a draft; 
Take it; a man can always hold his 
head 
Higher with cash in hand." And 
then he laughed. 
"Xo thanks! 'Tis bread upon the wat- 
ers thrown, 
And may come back. If ever you be 
rich 
Pay it to me or mine, or give someone 
Who needs it sorely — 'tis no matter 
which." 

I'll cut the story short. Byng made his 
way 
There at Calcutta; all seemed cut 
and dried; 
First general manager ; in a little day, 
The junior partner; when his senior 
died, 
Became both his successor and hi« 
heir; 
And recently lord of lac and lac 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



129 



Of good rupees, selling his business 
there 
For a good round sum, came to his 
country back. 

Here when he lauded, judge of his sur- 
prise 
To find his benefactor dead, the name 
Of the old firm made loathly in men's 
eyes; 
It's olden reputation brought to 
shame. 
Well, sir, he bought the notes, and 
there there they are; 
I am John Byng, to save your house's 
fame 
I bought them cent per cent — paid them 
at par ! 
There, sir, your tire's improved — 
they're in the flame. 

What, crying like a child! Let go my 
hand; 
I'm rich be} T ond compute. I only do 
What I can well afford. Keep self-com- 
mand; 
Ruin has passed — a friend shall stand 
by you. 
The house of Erbenstone and Son !s 
saVed; 
The bread your father on the waters 
cast 
Comes after many years; the hour I've 
craved 
When I could pay my debt, is here at 
last. 



The Relief of Lucknow. 
Robert Lowell. 
Oh, that last day in Lucknow fort! 

We knew that it was the last, 
That the enemies lines crept surely on, 
Ana .the end was coming fast. 

To yield to that foe was worse than 
death, 

And the men and we all worked on; 
It was one day more of smoke and roar, 

And then it would all be done. 

There was one of us, a corporal's wife, 
A fair young gentle thing, 



Wasted with fever in the siege, 
And her mind was wandering; 

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish 
plaid, 
And I took her head on my knee: 
"When my father comes hame frae the 
pleugh," she said, 
"Oh! then please waken me." 

She slept like a child on her father's 
floor 
In the flecking of woodbine-shade, 
When the house-dog sprawls by the 
open door, 
And the mother's wheel is staid. 

It was smoke and roar and powder- 
stench, 
And hopeless waiting for death; 
And the soldier's wife like a full-tired 
child, 
Seemed scarce to draw her breath. 

I sank to sleep; and I had my dream 

Of an English village-lane, 
And wall and garden; — but one wild 
scream 

Brought me back to the roar again. 

There Jessie Brown stood listening 
Till a sudden gladness broke 

All over her face and she caught my 
hand 
And drew me near, as she spoke: — 

"The Highlanders! Oh! dinna ye hear 

The slogan far avva? 
The McGregor's? Oh! I ken it weel; 

It's the grandest o' them a'! 

"God bless the bonny Highlanders! 

We're saved! we're saved!" she cried; 
And fell on her knees; and thanks to 
God 

Flowed forth like a full flood-tide. 

Along the battery-line her cry 

Had fallen among the men, 
And they started back; — they were 
there to die; 

But was life so near them, then? 

They listened for life; the rattling fire 
Far off, and the far-off roar, 



30 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Were all; and the colonel shook his 
head, 

And they turned to their guns once 
more. 
But Jessie said, "The slogan's dune; 

But diuna ye hear it noo, 
The Campbells arc coming ! It's nae a 
dream; 
Our succors hae broken through!" 
We heard the roar and the rattle afar, 

But the pipes we could not hear; 
So the men plied their work of hopeless 
war, 
And knew that the end was near. 

It was not long ere it made its way, — 
A shrilling, ceaseless sound: 

It was no noise from the strife afar 
Or the sappers under ground. 

It was the pipes of the Highlanders! 
And now they played Auld Lang 
Syne; 
It came to our men like the voice of 
God, 
And they shouted along the line. 

And they w r ept and shook one another's 
hands, 
And the women sobbed in a crowd; 
And every one knelt down where he 
stood, 
And we all thanked God aloud. 

That happy time, when Ave welcomed 
tnem, 
Our men put Jessie first; 
And the general gave her his hand, and 
cheers 
Like a storm from the soldiers burst. 

And the pipers' ribbons and tartans 

streamed, 

Marching round and round our lines; 

And our joyful cheers were broken with 

tears 

As the pipers played Auld Lang Syne. 



The Farm Where We Wire Boys- 

BY EDWIN L. SHUMAN. 

D'you mind the mountain farm, old 
hoy, where you an' me were 
kids? 



An' how we laid o' summer nights an* 
heard the katydids 

An' whippoorwills a-pipin' out and fid- 
dim' 'mong the stocks, 

An' how we usen't dare to speak for 
fear we'd raise the spooks? 

Can't you mind the springhouse still, 
where all the milk was kep', 

An' how our little toes would ache, a 
standin' on the step? 

Our house was neat an' tasty, the barn 
was full o' hay, 

A-purpose so as me an' you could romp 
a rainy day. 

W T hat fun to climb for huckleberries, 
tip-top of the hill, 

An' set our traps for rabbits in the mea- 
dow by the mill! 

An' don't you know that moss-grown 
trough, deep in a forest-glade, 

Where tinkle, tinkle, went the spring, 
a-singin' while we pla}'ed? 

Somehow I took the hankerin' to see 

the farm again 
An' view the spots that seemed so 

bright before we two was men. 
Ez frisky ez a colt I clum the dear old 

hill once more — 
I wish to God I'd stayed away; my heart 

is sick and sore. 
The farm, old boy, was dead an 1 

gone — the bones was scattered 

round; 
I felt like a grave yard, where ghouls 

has tore the ground. 

The chimbley's fallen off the house, the 

barn's without a roof; 
The springhouse shed is tumbled in — 

it's full o' leaves an' stuff, 
Where mother used to set her crocks 

down in the spring to cool, 
An' turn an' kiss us when we'd come a- 

bouncin' home from school. 
The wind sweeps through the stable, 

an' the stall where o!d Nell died 
Is filled clean to the manger-top with 

snow that's blowed inside. 

A great big lump come in my throat, 
that cough-drops couldn't cure; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



131 



I turned to hunt the moss-grown trough 

and spring so cold and pure. 
I found the trough upon its side, and 

rotted quite away; 
The spring was dried— I dunno why, 

but I jes' couldn't stay, 
Fer't seemed so sad an' lonesome there, 

an' voices filled my ears 
That you and me hadn't heard at all fer 

more'n twenty years. 

I couldn't somehow trust myself to go 
back past thet scene 

But sneaked away aloug the creek — I 
never felt so mean, 

Sence when our little blue-jay died an' 
we tried hard not to cry, 

An' made a drizzling failure at it, blub- 
bering on the sly. 

I hain't a-tellin' what I done a-comin' 
down the road, 

But when 'twas over, like, I felt reliev- 
ed of quite a load. 

I'm never goin' back no more t' thet 
graveyard of a place, 

For spooks walks there in broad day- 
light thet I don't care to face; 

I'd. ruther treasure up them scenes, 
afore the place was dead. 

An' hang 'em rounglike pictures on the 
inside of my head. 

An' ef any man should ask me, "where's 
the farm you once lived on? 

I'll say, It's gone to heaven, where the 
dear old folks is gone. 



Independence Bell— July 4, 1776. 

There was a tumult in the city, 

In the quaint old Quaker town, 
And the streets were rife with people 

Pacing restless up and down — 
People gathering at the corners, 

Where they whispered each to each, 
And the sweat stood on their temples 

With the earnestness of speech. 

As the bleak Atlantic currents 
Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, 

So they beat against the State-House, 
So they surged against the door; 



And the mingling of their voices 

Made a harmony profound, 
Till the quiet street of Chestnut 

Was all turbulent with sound. 

"Will they do it?" "Dare they do itV" 
"Who is speaking?" "What's the 
news?" 
"What of Adams?" "What of Sher^ 
man?" 
"Oh, God grant they won't refuse!" 
"Make some way there!" "Let me 
nearer!" 
"Lam stifling!', "Stifle then! 
When a nation's life's at hazard, 
We've no time to think of men!" 

So they surged against the State-House 

While, all solemnly inside 
Sat the "Continental Congress," 

Truth and reason for their guide. 
O'er a simple scroll debating, 

Which though simple it might be, 
Yet should shake the cliffs of England, 

With the thunders of the free. 

Far aloft in that high steeple 

Sat the bell-man old and gray; 
He was weary of the tyrant 

And his iron-sceptered sway. 
So he sat with one hand ready 

On the clapper of the bell, 
When his eye could catch the signal, 

The long-expected news, to tell. 

See! See! The dense crowd quivers 

Through all its lengthy line, 
As the boy beside the portal 

Hastens forth to give the sign! 
With his little hands uplifted, 

Breezes dallying with his hair, 
Hark! with deep, clear intonation, 

Breaks his young voice on the air: 

Hushed the people's swelling murmur, 

Whilst the boy cries joyously; 
"Ring!" he shouts, "Ring! grandpapa, 

Riug! oh, ring for Liberty !\ 
Quickly, at the given signal, 

The old bellman lifts his hand, 
Forth he sends the good news, making 

Iron music through the land. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



How they shouted! What rejoicing! 

How the old bell shook the air, 
Till the clang of freedom ruffled 

The calmly gliding Delaware! 
•How the bonfires and the torches 

Lighted up the night's repose, 
And from the flames, like fabled Phoe- 
nix, 

Our glorious liberty arose! 

That old State-House bell is silent, 

Hushed is now its clamorous tongue 
But the spirit it awakened 

Still is living— ever young; 
•And. when we greet the smiling sun- 
light 

On the fourth of each July, 
We will ne'er forget the bellman 

Who, betwixt the earth and sky, 
-Rung out, loudly, "Independence!" 

Which, please God, shall never die! 



The Old Year and the New. 
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 

The flying cloud, the frosty light; 

The year is dying in the night; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow; 
The year is going, let him go; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind 
For those that here we see no more; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of party strife; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life f 

And sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring in the valiant and the free; 

The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 

Ring out the darkness of the land; 
Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

Tennyson. 



The Convict's Christmas Eve. 
The term was done, my penalty was 
past, 
I saw the outside of the world at last, 
When I left that stone punishment of 
sin, 
'Twas most as hard as when I first 
went in. 
It seemed at once as though the swift 
voiced air 
Told slanderous tales about me every- 
where; 
As if the ground itself was shrinking 
back 
For fear 'twould get the Cains mark 
of my track. 
Women would edge away, with shrewd 
she guesses, 
As if my very glance would spoil their 
dresses; 
Men look me over with close, careful 
gaze, 
And understood my down-cast jail 
bred ways' 
My hands were so grimmed, stained 
and defiled 
I wouldn't have had the cheek to pet 
a child; 
If I had spoken to a dog that day, 
He would have tipped his nose and 
walked away; 
And so I wandered in a garb of doubt, 
Whence neither heaven or earth 
would let me out. 
This world itself seemed to me every 
bit 
As hard a prison as the one I'd quit. 

If you are made of anything but dirt, 
If you've a soul that other souls can 
hurt, 
Turn to the right henceforth whoever 
passes; 
It's death to drop among the lawless 
classes! 
Men lose, who lose the friendship of the 
law, 
A blessing for each breath of air they 
draw; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



133 



They know the advantage of a good 
square face, 
When their's has been disfigured by 
disgrace. 

So I trudged round appropriately slow, 
For one with no particular place to 
go. 
The houses scowled and stared as if to 
say 
"You jail-bird, we are honest; walk 
away! 
The factory seemed to scream when I 
came near, 
"Stand back! unsentenced men are 
working here!" 
And virtue had the appearance all the 
time 
Of trying hard to push me back to 
crime. 

It struck me strange, that stormy, 
snow-bleached day, 
To watch the different people on the 
way, 
All carrying bundles, of all sorts of sizes, 
As carefully as gold and silver prizes. 
Well dressed or poor, I could not un- 
derstand 
Why each one lugged a bundle in his 
hand 
I asked an old policeman what it meant, 
He looked me over with eyes shrewd- 
ly bent, 
While muttering in a voice that fairly 
froze, 
"It's because to-morrow's Christmas 
I suppose." 
And then the fact came crashing o'er 
me 
How horribly alone a man can be! 

I don't pretend what tortures yet may 
wait 
For souls that have not run their 
reckoning strait, 
It isn't for mortal ignorance to say 
W T hat kind of night may follow any 
day; 
That sin on earth knows nothing yet 
about 



But I don't think there's any harbor 
known 
Worse for a wrecked soul than to be 
alone. 
Alone! there maybe never occured, 
' A word whose gloom is gloomier than 
that word! 

You who can brighten up your Christ- 
mas joys, 
With all affection's, kind but mighty 
toys, 
Who fancy that your gift of love be 
rare, 
And presents are not worth their 
price in cash, 
Thank God, with love and light no 
more at war, 
That you've someone to spend your 
money for! 
A dollar pays a very dingy part, 
Till magnetized by someone's great- 
ful heart, 

So evening saw me straggling up and 
down 
Within the gaily lighted, desolate 
town, 
A hungry sad heart-hermit all the 
while, 
My rough face begging for a friendly 
smile. 
Folks talked with folks in new made 
warmth and glee, 
But no one had a word or look for 
me; 
An open church some look of welcome 
wore; 
I crept in soft, and sat down near the 
door. 
I'd never seen 'mongst my unhappy 
race 
So many happy children in one place; 
I never knew how much a hymn could 
bring 
From Heaven, until I heard those 
children sing. 

I never saw such sweet- breathed gales 
of glee, 
As swept around that fruitful Christ- 
mas tree. 



1 34 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Ye who have tripped through child- 
hood's merry days, 
With passionate love protecting all 
your ways, 
Who did not see a Christmas day go by 
Without some present for your spark- 
ling ej'e, 
Thank God! whos goodness gave such 
joy its birth, 
And scattered heaven seeds in dust 
of earth ! 
In stone-paved ground my thorny field 
was set, 
I never had a Christmas present yet. 

And so I sat and saw them, and con- 
fess 
Felt all the unhappiness for their hap- 
piness; 
And when a man gets into such a state, 

He's very proud and very desolate. 
Just then a cry of "Fire!" amongst us 
came, 
The pretty Christmas tree was all 
aflame; 
And one sweet child there in our startl- 
ed gaze 
Was screaming, with her white dress 
all ablaze. 
The crowd seemed crazy-like, old and 
young, 
And very swift of speed though slow 
of tongue. 
But one knew what to do, and not to 
say, 
And he a convict just let loose that 
day. 
I fought like one who deals in deadly 
st iif e ; 
I wrapped my life around that child's 
sweet life; 
I choked the flames that choked her 
with rich cloaks 
Stolen from some good but very 
frightened folks; 
• I gave the dear girl to her parents right 
Unharmed by anything excepting 
fright: 
I tore the blazing branches from the 
tree, 



And all was safe, and no one harmed 
but me. 

That night, in which I asked for sleep 
in vain 
That night, that tossed me round on 
prongs of pain, 
That stabbed me with fierce tortures 
through and through 
Was still the happiest that I ever 
knew. 
I felt that I at last bad earned a place 
Among mankind, by suffering for my 
race; 
I felt the glorious facts wouldn't let me 
miss 
A mother's thanks — perhaps a child's 
sweet kiss, 
That man's warm gratitude would find 
a plan 
To lift me up and help me be a man. 

Next day they brought a letter to my 
bed. 
I opened it with tingling nerves and 
read: 
"You have upon my kindness certain 
claims 
For rescuing my young child from 
the flames; 
Such deeds deserve a hand unstained 
by crime; 
I trust you will reform while yet 
there's time. 
The blackest sinner may find mercy 
still 
(Enclosed please find a thousand 
dollar bill.) 
Our paths of course on different roads 
must lie. 
Don't follow me for any more. ^Good- 
bye." 

I scorched the dirty rag till it was black 
Enclosed it in a rag and sent it back. 
That very night I cracked a trades- 
man's door, 
Stole with my blistered hands ten 
thousand more. 
Which next day I took special pains to 
send 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



135 



To my good, distant, wealthy, high- 
toned friend, 
And wrote upon it in a steady hand, 
In words I hoped lie wouldn't mis- 
understand: 
"Money is cheap as I have shown you 
here, 
But gratitude and sympathy are dear. 
These rags are stolen — have been — 
may often be. 
I trust the one w r asn't you sent to me. 
Hoping your pride and you were recon- 
ciled; 
From the black, sinful rescuer of 
child." 

I crept to court, a crushed, triumphant 
worm, 
Confessed the theft and took another 
term. 
My life closed and begun, and I am 
back 
Among the rogues who walk the 
broad-gauged track. 
I toil 'mid every sort of sin that's known 
I walk rough roads, but do not walk 
alone." 

Oh, Christian! Hypocrite! how little 
you profess 
Goes toward making the world's 
great happiness 
Sin's black banner still remains un- 
furled 
And will, till deeds instead of creeds 
reform the world. 
Your careless words or look of pride 
sometime 
Has driven the poor discouraged 
convict back back to crime. 
And true it is that when your spirit 
leaves its clod, 
It meets its judgment by the con- 
vict's God. 



The Black Tiger. 

Yes! For fifty years I've traveled, I'm 
an old man now grown gray. 

I've crossed the country many times, 
from St. Paul to Monterey: 



From Boston, o'er prairie and mountain, 

to the Sacramento's mouth: 
From the dark pine forests cf the north 

to the cane brakes of the South. 
A showman? Yes. In the circus line; 

and my happiest days were spent 
Furnishing honest amusement in the 

big white canvass tent. 
We did not travel as shows do now, in 

"Our own great special train" 
We packed our vans at midnight, and 

roughed it through wind and rain. 

Over the toughest of country roads. 

Our system was a law 
And a jollier, happier lot of folks, on 

this earth you never saw. 
Our drivers would sleep in the after- 
noon, and at night they followed 

their guide, 
And thus through the hours of darkness 

we kept up our toilsome ride. 
When Sunday came we went to church. 

We were honest, true and square; 
And a mean, low man in the circus, in 

those good old days was rare. 
And when you come to charity, I speak 

not in a boastful way, 
But deeds not creeds, show the kindly 

heart: thats all I need to say. 

I've seen Dan Rice give five thousand 

at once for a church, in a poor 

little town 
And he always had an open purse when 

an honest man was down; 
And as for widows and orphan children 

If I had what he has spent 
I could buy a half a dozen farms; and 

not owe a single cent. 
Just such a man w r as Richard Sands, on 

his record was no stain, 
But their good deeds are remembered. 

they have not lived in vain. 
You ask for a story? all right sir, and 

its true what I relate 
'Twas in August I think of '67, I have 

quite forgotten the date. 

We had that year, a performing den of 
lions, and leopards four; 



136 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



And the Devil himself in the same big 

cage, kept apart by an iron door. 
It was "'Terror ' the huge black tiger, 

shipped from Bengal the same 

spring; 
Restless and ugly; when he'd roar, he'd 

make the whole caravan ring. 
His new cage arrived that very day, and 

we meant to make the change; 
But it happened to be Friday; and we 

all act sometimes strange 
So we hauled the new den into line and 

opened wide its door, 
And let it stand in its emptiness, with 

the lasso upon its floor. 

Now I'll turn back in my story. our lady 

rider that year 
Was a beautiful girl from Dresden we 

called her Zoe Lapierre; 
But her hair was sunbeam golden, her 

eyes were lovely blue, 
She always pleased the people audi tell 

you she was true. 
She was pet of the whole battalion, but 

the one who loved her most 
Was a pale, white livered, sickly lad, 

who came from Hampshire coast; 
He'd studied too hard, and needed rest, 

thats why he joined our band: 
He fed the birds,and did light jobs and 

seemed to have no sand. 

Now on this day I spoke of, the tent 

was packed to a jamb, 
And everything went lovely as a little 

frisky lamb. 
Zoe had leaped from her Piebald, and 

alighted with a spring, 
When— Crash! went the bars of the iron 

cage, — the black tiger was in the 

ring. 
A horror seized that surging crowd, and 

never, — till my death, 
Will I forget how our hearts stood still. 

and how we held our breath. 
And how the people's faces were white 

as driven snow, 
For face to face in the sawdust there, 

was that devilish beast and Zoe. 
We could not move a muscle, we were 



paralyzed through and through. 

Save one, — who, in a second's time, 

seemed to know just what to do. 
He seized the rawhide lasso, before a 

word w r as said, — 
And quicker than greased lightning,— 

it was over ' "Terrors" head. 
The deed was done in a second, but 

that man's face was a sight, 
There was no sign of weakness there, it 

meant nothing else but tight. 
Mad, was no name for it, and as sure 

as I draw my breath 
Had it not been for those terrible claws, 

he'd have choked the brute to 

death. 

His eyes were like coals of tire, he had 

a look that was bad. 
Of course you guess by this time, he 

was the sickly Hampshire lad, 
"Run! Zoe:"— he yelled like thunder; 

Then our wits came back at last, 
The twirl of another lasso, and we had 

the critter fast. 
A score of hands at either end soon 

drew those lassoes taut. 
And slowly, carefully, by degrees he 

near his cage was brought. 
And as providence permitted, without 

harm of a human hair, 
In five minutes, the black tiger was safe 

in his iron lair- 
When the danger was all over, and we 

all breathed free once more, 
Some one arose in that crowded mass 

and said "the people now have 

the floor, 
We have not paid for the last grand 

act, for it was'nt down on the bill 
Now we propose to do an act ourselves, 

and we want the circus still," 
Then they passed some resolutions and 

I tell you they grew hot 
And the result of that collection was a 

thousand dollars spot. 
What became of the hero? oh he's 

settled down for life, 
He's farming now in a Southern state, 

and Zoe Lapierre is his wife. 

S. Olmsted. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



137 



A True Inoident of the Mohawk- 
The night was pitch dark, the rain 
p<mfed in torrents from the black sky, 
and th-i wind which had been blowing 
a gale all day, still broke into fitful 
gusts, and moaned and sighed through 
the tree-tops, as if sounding a requiem 
for the storm. For forty-eight hours it 
had rained incessantly, and the many 
streams tributary to the great Mohawk, 
swollen to their utmost, came tearing 
down the mountain sides until that 
great river was a seething, boiling mass 
of angry waters hurrying onward to- 
ward the sea. "It will be a cheerless 
ride 1 ' said Doctor D — as he stepped 
from a patient's door, and mounted his 
horse for the homeward ride; "A cheer- 
less ride at best; and it looks as though 
I must trust in God and my horse", 
good-naturedly patting the noble ani- 
mal, which was new doing its best fet- 
lock deep in the mud, drenched wit]} 
rain and half blinded by the storm, 
picking its way over the gullied road. 
Having perfect confidence in his horse 
the Doctor laid the bridle rein across the 
Pommel of the saddle, drew Ins water- 
proof closely about him and resigned 
himself to the study of his last case. 
Two hours passed when suddenly the 
horse stopped. Unmindful of the toil- 
some journey and angered at this unus- 
ual action, and sudden interruption to 
his reverie, he struck his noble beast a 
sounding blow. 

Unused to such treatment at the 
hands of its master it quivered for a mo 
ment, and then slowly, almost painfully 
moved forward, when the sound of iron 
shod feet upon the timbers told the 
doctor that he was now crossing the 
great Mohawk bridge. He could hear 
the mad waters roaring and rushing 
underneath, and sounding unusually 
near, but soon the welcome lights of the 
river hotel flashed before him, and in a 
few moments he had reached his jour- 
ney's end. 



"In the name of Heaven where did 
you come from Doctor" gasped the land- 
lord, as with blanched face and open 
mouth he gazed upon his guest. ' 'Come 
from? I come from Hackett's; and 
have just crossed the bridge, and prefer 
eating supper to answering such ques- 
tions" growled the doctor whose tedious 
ride had sharpened his appetite, and 
put him in no mood for conversation. 
"Doctor! are you drunk or crazy! The 
bridge went down tine river this afternoon 
— carried away by the freshet— come 
and see for yourself." Seizing a lan- 
tern they proceeded to the river side, 
and there — sure enough, all that re- 
mained of the once great, powerful 
structure was four single abutments of 
solid masonry, upon which a single 
oaken string piece rested, and connect- 
ed, with either shore, and which had re- 
sisted the terrible pressure of the fresh- 
et now spanned the river like a mighty 
rope. On this long stretch of timber, 
this single beam, with the roaring, rush- 
ing torrent beneath, the blinding storm 
above and around, the animal, fatigued 
with a toilsome journey, drenched by 
the rain, and half blinded by the storm, 
had performed a feat, the like of which, 
history furnishes no parallel. A feat 
that man, under those circumstances, 
would never have dared to attempt. 

What confidence in its master; what 
a painstaking effort; now staggering 
under a fierce gust of thestorm, cringing 
and quivering to obtain its equilibrium 
when one mis-step would have hurled 
them to death. The faithful slave cross- 
ed in safety with his rider on his back; 
and that rider totally unconscious 6i 
the awful peril through which he haS 
passed. When the full realization of 
the facts flashed upon his mind, tbe 
doctor moaned aloud. "Oh! Father in 
Heaven!" and I struck him, and then 
he rushed like a mad-man, back to the 
stable. 

Let us draw the curtain over that 
scene. From that day forth the noble 



138 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



animals work was done. It roamed at 
will in the richest pastures and partook 
of the choicest dainties from its master's 
hand. Where it lies buried, a marble 
statue with appropriate inscription tells 
the stranger the story of the old Mo- 
hawk Bridge. 

S. Olmsted. 



Vashti. 

JULIA C. R. DOUR. 

Ahasuerus reigned. Kiuglier king 
Never did poet praise or minstrel sing! 
He had no peers. Crowned queen, 
Clasping the screptre my small hands 

between, 
I might have reigned, yet kept a heart 

as free 
As this light breeze that sweeps the 

Persian Sea! 
But, ah! I loved my king— O woful da}' 

of days! 
Whose hours I number now in sad 

amaze, 
That day Ahasuerus smiled and said, 
"Since first I wore this crown upon my 

head, 
Thrice have the emerald clusters of 

the vine 
Changed to translucent globes of ruby 

wine: 
And thrice the peaches on the loaded 

walls 
Have rounded into gold and crimson 

balls. 
The riches of my kingdom shall be 

shown, 
And all my glorious majesty made 

known!" 

Then came from far and near a hurry- 
ing throng 

Of skilled and cunning workmen. All 
the day long 

And far into the silent night, they 
wrought; 

Giving form to their great master's 
thought — 

Till Shushan grew a marvel! Never yet 

Yon rolling sun on fairer scene has set: 



The palace windows were ablaze with 
light; 

And Persia's lords were there, most 
richly dight 

In broidered silks, or costliest cloth of 
gold, 

That kept the sunshine in each lustrous 
fold: 

Up from the gardens floated the perfume 

Of rose and myrtle, pomegranate and 
orange bloonv 

. . . . Softest music swept 

Through the vast arches, till men smil- 
ed and wept 

For very joy. Then slowly keeping 
time 

To the gay cymbal's clearly ringing 
chime, 

Stole down the long arcades the danc- 
ing girls; 

Some with dark-braided tresses, some 
with sunny curls, 

Wild waxed the revel. 

On an ivory throne 

Inlaid with ebon}' and gems that shone 

With a surpassing lustre sat my lord. 

The king Ahasuerus. His great sword 

Blazing with diamonds on hilt and 
blade — 

The mighty sword that made his foes 
afraid — 

And the heavy crown his head refused 
to wear, 

More fitly crowned by his own cluster- 
ing hair, 

Lay on a pearl-wrought cushion by his 
side, 

Mute symbol of great Persia's power 
and pride. 

Louder and louder grew the sounds of 

mirth ; 
Faster and faster flowed the red wine 

forth: 
Till flushed with pride, and song and 

wine, 
The king rose up and said, "O nobles 

mine! 
Princes of Persia, Media's hope and 

pride, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



139 



"Stars of my kingdom, will ye aught be- 
side? 

: Speak! atid I swear your sovereign's 
will shall be, 

'On this fair night to please and honor 

ye!" 

Then rose a shout from out the glitter- 
ing throng, 
Drowning the voiee of merriment and 

song. 
'Out spoke at last a tongue that should 

have been 
Palsied in foul dishonor there and then: 
"O great Ahasuerus ! ne'er before 
Reigned such a king so blest a people 

o'er! 
What shall we ask? What great and 

wonderous boon 
To crown the hours that fly away too 

soon? 
There is but one 'Tis said that mortal 

eyes 
"Never yet gazed in strange, yet sweet 

surprise, 
TJpon a face like that of her who wears 
Thy signet ring, and all thy glory 

shares — 
'Our fair Queen Vashti. Naught be- 
side 
'Can fill our cup of happiness and 

pride." 
A murmur ran throughout the startled 

crowd, 
■"Swelling at last to plaudits long and 

loud. 
Maddened with wine they knew not 

what they said: 
Ahasuerus bent his haughty head, 
And for an instant o'er his face there 

swept 
A look his courtiers in their memory 

kept 
-For many a day — a look of doubt and 

pain, 
They scarcely caught it ere it had pass- 
ed again. 
"•*My kingly word is pledged." Then to 

the seven 
X«ord chamberlains to whom the keys 

were given: 



"Haste ye, and to this noble presence 

bring 
Vashti, the queen, with royal crown 

and ring." 
They did their errand, those old gray 

haire 1 men, 
Who should have braved the lion in his 

den, 
Or ere they bore such message to their 

queen, 
Or took such words their aged lips be- 
tween. 
"What! I, the daughter of a kingly 

race, 
Step down, unblushing, from my lofty 

place, 
And stand unveiledbefore the curious 

eyes 
Of the mad rabble that with drunken 

cries 
Were shouting 'Vashti! Vashti!' " 

In wonder and affright, 
At the fearful omens of that wild, mad 

night, 
My maidens hung around me as I told 
These seven lord chamberlains, so gray 

and old, 
To bear this answer back: It may not 

be. 
My lord, my king, I cannot come to 

thee; 
It is not meet that Persia's queen like 

one 
Who treads the market place from sun 

to sun, 
Should bare her beauty to the hungry 

crowd 
Who name her name in accents hoarse 

and loud." 
With stern, cold looks they left me . Ah ! 

I knew 
If my dear lord to his best self w r ere 

true, 
That he would hold me guiltless, and 

would say, 
"I thank thee, Vashti, that thou didst 

not obey!" 
But the red wine was ruling o'er his 

brain; 



40 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The cruel wine that recked not of my 

pain. 
Up from the angry throng a clamor 

rose; 
The Hattering sycophants were now my 

foes; 
With slow, wise words, and many a 

virtuous frown, 
One said, "Be the queen from her es- 
tate cast down! 
Let her not see the king's face ever- 
more, 
Nor come within his presence as of 

yore; 
So disobedient wives through all the 

land 
Shall read the lesson, heed and under- 
stand'." 
Up spoke another, eager to be heard, 
In royal councils fain to have a word: 
"Let this commandment of the king be 

writ 
In the law of the Medes and Persians, 

as is fit, 
The perfect law that man may alter 

not, 
Nor of its bitter end abate one jot/' 
Alas! the king was wroth. Before his 

face 
I could not go to plead my piteous case; 
And. ere the rising of the morrow's sun 
My bitter doom was sealed, the deed 

was done. 
Scarce had two moons passed, when 

one dreary night 
1 sat within my bower in woeful plight, 
When suddenly upon my presence stole 
A muffled form; whose shadow stirred 

my soul, 
I knew not wherefore. Ere my tongue 

could speak, 
Or with a cry the brooding silence 

break, 
A low voice murmured, ''Vashti!" 

W T ith a bound 
Of half-delirious joy, upon the ground 
At the king's feet I fell. Pale and still, 
Hushing my heart's cry with an iron 

will; 
"What will the king?" I asked. Xo 

answer came, 



But to his sad eye leaped a sudden, 
flame; 

And when I saw the anguish in his eyes;. 

My tortured love burst forth in tears. 
and cries. 

Then were his lips unsealed. I cannot 
tell 

All the wild words that I remember 
well 

Oh! was it joy or was it pain to know 

That not alone I wept my weary woe? 

Alas! I know not. But I know to-day — 

If tnis be sin, forgive me Heaven, I 
pray!— 

That though his eyes have never looked 
on mine 

Since that sad night in bower of eglan- 
tine, 

And fair Queen Esther sits a beauteous, 
bride 

In stately Shushan, at the monarch's, 
side, 

The king remembers Vashti, even yet, 

Breathing her name sometimes with 
vain regret, 

Or murmuring, haply,in a whisper low, 

"Woe for the heart that loved me long- 
ago!" 



An Order for a Picture- 

O, good painter, tell me true, 
Has your hand tbe cunning to draw 
Shapes of things that you never saw'r 

Aye? Well, here is an order for you. 

Woods and cornfields a little brown, — 

The picture must notbe over-bright, — - 

Yet all in the golden and gracious 

light, 

Of a cloud when the summer sun is. 

down. 

Alway and alway, night and morn, 
Woods upon woods, with fields of corn 

Lying between them, not quite sere A 
And not in the full, thick, leafy bloom v 
When the wind can hardly find breath*, 
ing room 

Under their tassels, — cattle near, 
Biting shorter the short green grass, 
And a hedge of sumach and sassafras^ 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



141 



With bluebirds twittering all around, — 
Ah, good painter, you can't paint 
sound ! 

These and the little house where I was 

born, 
Low and little and black and old, 
With children, many as it can hold, 
All at the windows, open wide,— 
Heads and shoulders clear outside, 
And fair young faces all ablush; 

Perhaps you may have seen, some 

day, 
Roses crowding the self-same way, 
Out of a wilding, way-side bush. 

Listen closer. When you have done 

With woods and cornfields and graz- 
ing herds, 
A lady, the loveliest ever the sun 
Looked down upon, you must paint 

for me; 
Oh, if I could only make you see 

The clear blue e3'es, the tender smile, 
The sovereign sweetness, the gentle 

grace, 
The woman's soul and the angel's face 

That are beaming on me all thewhile! 

I need not speak these foolish words: 
Yet one word tells you all I would say, 

She is my mother: you will agree 
That all the rest may be thrown away. 

Two little urchins at her knee 
Yon must paint, sir; one like me, — 

The othev with a clearer brow, 
And the light of his adventurous eyes 
Flashing with boldest enterprise: 

At ten years old he went to sea, — 
God knoweth if he b 2 living now, — 
He sailed in the good ship "Commo- 
dore,"— 
Nobody ever crossed her track 
To bring us news, and she never 
came back. 
Ah, 'tis twenty long years and more 
Since that old ship went out of the bay 
With my great-hearted brother on 

her deck: 
I watched him till he shrenk to a 
speck, 



And his face was toward me all the 

way. 
Bright his hair was, a golden brown, 
The time we stood at our mother's 
knee; 
That beauteous head, if it did go down, 
Carried sunshine into the sea! 

Out in the fields one summer night 

We were together, half afraid, 
Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the 
shade 
Of the high hills, stretching so still 
and far, — 
Loitering till after the low little light 
Of the candle shone through the open 
door, 
And over the hay-stack's pointed top, 
All of a tremble, and ready to drop 
The first half-hour, the great yellow 
star 
That we, with staring, ignorant eyes, 
Had often and often watched to see 
Propped and held in its place in the 
skies 
By the fork of a tall red mulberry tree, 
\Y r hich close in the edge of our iiax- 
field grew, — 
Dead at the top, — just one branch full 
Of leaves, notched round, and lined 
with wool, 
From which it tenderly shook the dew 
Over our head, when we came to play 
In its handbreadth of shadow, day after 
day, 
Afraid to go home, sir; for one of us 
bore 
A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled 
eggs,— 
The other, a bird, held fast by the 
legs, 
Not so big as a straw of wheat; 
The berries we gave her she wouldn't 
eat, 
But cried and cried, till we held her 
bill, 
So slim and shining, to keep her still. 

At last we stood at our mother's knee. 

Do you think, sir, if you try. 
You can paint the look of a lie? 



14- 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



If you can, pray have the grace 
To put it solely in the face 

Of the urchin that is likest me; 
1 think 'twas solely mine, indeed: 

But that's no matter, — paint it so; 
The eyes of our mothei — (take good 
heed)— 
Looking not on the nestfull of eggs, 
Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by 
the legs, 
But through our faces, down to our 
lies, 
And oh, with such injured, reproachful 
surprise, 
I felt my heart bleed where that 
glance went, as though 
A sharp blade struck through it 

You, sir, know, 
That you on the canvas are to repeat 
Things that are fairest, things most 
sweet, — 
Woods and cornfields and mulberry 
tree, — 
The mother,— the lads, with their birds, 
at her knee, 
But, oh that look of reproachful woe! 
High as the heavens your name I'll 
shout, 
If you paint me the picture, and leave 
that out. 

Alice Cary. 



We Shall Know. 

ANNIE HERBERT, 

When the mists have rolled in splendor 

From the beauty of the hills. 
And the sunshine, warm and tender, 

Falls in kisses on the rills, 
We may read love's shining letter 

In the rainbow of the spray, 
We shall know each other better 

When the mists have cleared away, — 
We shall know as we are known, 

iS evermore to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning, 

When the mists have cleared away. 

If we err in human blindness 

And forget that we are dust, 
If we miss the law of kindnes* 



When we struggle to be just, 
Snowy wiugs of peace shall cover 

All the pain that hides away, 
When the weary watch is over, 

And the mists have cleared away„ 
We shall know as we are known, 

Nevermore to walk alone, 
In the dawning of the morning, 

When the mists have cleared away. 

When the silvery mist has veiled us 

From the faces of our own, 
Oft we deem their love has failed us 

And we tread our path alone; 
We should see them near and truly, 

Never love or blame unduly, 
If the mists were cleared away. 

We shall know as we are known, 
Nevermore to walk alone, 

In the dawning of the morning, 
When the mists have cleared away. 

When the mists have risen above us. 

' As our Father knows his own, 
Face to face with those that love us„ 

We shall know as we are known; 
Love, beyond the orient meadows, 

Floats the golden fringe of day; 
Heart to heart we bide the shadows, 

Till the mists have cleared away. 
We shall know as we are known, 

Nevermore to walk alone, 
When the Day of Light is dawning, * 

And the mists have passed away. 



How the Gates Came Ajar- 

'Twas whispered one morning in Heaven 

How the little child-angel May, 

In the shade of the great white portal v 

Sat sorrowing night and day. 

How she said to the stately warden — . 

He of the key and bar — 

"O angel, sweet angel! I pray you, 

Set the beautiful gates ajar — 

Only a little won't you 

Set the beautiful gates ajar! 

"I can hear my mother weeping; 
She is lonely; she cannot see 
A glimmer of light in the darkness 
When the gates shut after me. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



43 



Oh! turn me the key, sweet angel, 

The splendor will shine so far!" 

But tlif warden answered, "I dare not 

Set the beautiful gates ajar," 

Spoke low and answered: "I dare not 

Set the beautiful gates ajar." 

Then uprose Mary the Blessed, 
Sweet Mary, mother of Christ; 
Her hand on the hand of the Angel 
She laid, and the touch sufficed. 
Turned was the key in the portal, 
Fell ringing the golden bar; 
And lo! in the little child's fingers 
Stood the beautiful gates ajar! 

"And the key for no further using, 

To my blessed son shall be given," 

Said Mary, Mother of Jesus — 

Tenderest heart in heaven, 

Now, never a sad-eyed mother 

But may catch the glory afar, 

Since safe in the Lord Christ's bosom 

Are the keys of the gates ajar; 

Close hid in the dear Christ's bosom, 

And the gates fore ver ajar! 



Over the River. 

Over the River thej* beckon to me, 
Loved ones who crossed to the other 

side. 
The gleams of their sunny robes I see, 
But their voices are drowned by the 

rushing tide. 
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, 
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own 

blue; 
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold 
And the pale mist hid him from mortal 

view . 
We saw not the angels that met him 

there, 
The gate of the City we could not see: 
Over the River, over the River 
My brother stands waiting to welcome 

me. 

Over the river the boatman pale 
Carried another, the household pet; 
Her brown-curls waved in the gentle 
gale 



Darling Minnie, I see her yet. 

She closed on her bosom her dimpled 

hands, 
And fearlessly entered the phantom 

bark ; 
We watched it glide from the silver 

sands, 
And all our sunshine grew strangely 

dark. 
We know she is safe on the further side, 
Where all the ransomed and angels be: 
Over the River, the mystic River, 
My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 

For none return from those quiet shores 
Who cross with the boatman, cold and 

pale 
We hear the dip of the golden oars, 
And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail 
And lo! they have passed from our 

yearning hearts. 
They cross the stream and are gone for 

aye; 
We may not sunder the vail apart, 
That hides from our vision the gates of 

day. 
We only know that their barks no more 
Sail with us over life's stormy sea, 
Yet, somewhere, I know on the unseen 

shore, 
They watch, and beckon, and wait for 

me. 

And I sit and think, when the sunsit's 

gold, 
Is flushing the river and hill and shoreF, 
I shall one day stand by the waters cold, 
And list to the sound of the boatman's 

oar, 
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping 

sail, 
I shall hear the boat as it gains the 

strand; 
I shall pass from sight with the boat- 
man pale. 
To the better shore of the spirit land. 
I shall know the loved ones who have 

gone before, 
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
When over the river, the peaceful river, 
The angel of death shall carry me. 

Nancy A. W. Priest. 



1 44 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The Old Way and the New- 
I've just come in from the meadow, 
wife, 
Where the grass is tall and green, 
I hobbled out upon my cane 

To see John's new machine: 
It makes my old eyes snap again 

To see that mower mow, 
And I heaved a sigh for the scythe I 
swung 
Some twenty years ago. 

Many and many is the day I've mowed 

Neath the rays of a scorching sun, 
Till I thought my poor old back would 
break, 

Ere my task for the day was done, 
I often think of the days of toil 

In the fields all over the farm, 
Till I feel the sweat on my wrinkled 
brow, 

And the old pain come in my arm. 

It was hard work, it was slow work, 

A swingin' the old scythe then; 
Unlike the mower that went through 
the grass 

Like death through the ranks of men, 
I stood and looked till my old eyes 
ached. 

Amazed at its speed and power; 
The work that took me a day to do 

Is done in one short hour. 

John said I hadn't seen the half; 

When he puts it into his wheat, 
I shall see it reap and rake it 

And put it in bundles neat. 
Then soon a Yankee will come along 

And set to work and learn 
To reap it' and thrash it, and bag it up 

And send it it into the barn. 

John kinder laughed when he said it, 

But I said to the hired men: 
"I have seen so much on my pilgrim- 
age 

Thro' my three score years and ten, 
That I wouldn't be surprised to see 

A railroad in the air 
Or a Yankee in a flyin' ship 

A goin' most any where." 



There's a difference in the work I done, 

And the work my boys now do, 
Steady and slow in the good old way, 

Worry and fret in the new. 
But somehow I think there was hap- 
piness 

Crowded into those toiling days, 
That the fast young men of the present, 

Will not see, till they change their 
ways. 

To think that I ever should live to see 

Work done in this wonderful way. 
Old tools are of little service now 

And farming is almost play. 
The women have got their sewing ma- 
chines, 

Their wringers and every such thing, 
And now they plap croquet in the door- 
yard, 

Or sit in the parlor and sing. 
'Twasn't you that had it so easy wife, 

In the days so long gone by. 
You riz up early and sat up late, 
A-toilin for you and I; 
There was cows to milk and butter to 
make, 

And many a day did you stand 
A washin' my toilstained garments, 

And wringin' 'em out by hand. 
Ah, wife, our children will never see 

The hard work we have seen; 
For the heavy task, and the long task 

Is now done with a machine. 
No more the noise of the scythe I hear : 

The Mower — there! hear it afar? 
A rattlin' along thro' the tall stout 
grass 

With the noise of a railroad car. 
Well, the old tools now are shoved 
away; 

They stand a gatherin' rust 
Like many an old man I have seen, 

Put aside with only a crust. 
When the eyes grow dim, when the 
step is weak; 

When the strength goes out of his 
arm ; 
The best thing a poor old man can do 

Is to hold the deed of the farm. 

John H. Yales. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



45 



Bernardo's Revenge- 
What tents gleam on the green hill-side, 

like snow in the sunny beam? 
What gloomy warriors gather there, 

like a surly mountain stream? 
These, for Bernardo's vengeance, have 

come like a stormy blast, 
The rage of their long cherished hate 

on a cruel king to cast. 
"Snifters of tyranny!" cries their chief, 

see yonder slavish host. 
We shall drench the field with their 
craven blood, or freedom's hopes 
are lost; 
You know I come for a father's death, 

my filial vow to pay, 
Then let the 'Murdered Saucho!' be 

your battle cry to-day. 
On, on! for the death of the tyrant 
king!" "Hurrah;" was the 
answering cry; 
u We follow thee to victory, or follow 

thee to die!" 
The ba. tie-field— the charge— the shock 

— the quivering struggle now — 
The rout— the shout!— while lightnings 
flash from Bernardo's angry brow. 
The chieftain's arm has need of rest, 

his brand drips red with gore, 
But one last sacrifice remains ere his 

w 7 ork of toil is o'er. 
The king, who looked for victory, from 

his large and well-trained host, 
Now flies for safety from the field, 

where all his hopes are lost; 
But full in front, with blood-red sword, 

a warrior now appears, 
And the war-cry, "Murdered Sancho!" 

rings in the tyrant's ears. 
"Ha! noble king, have we met at last?" 

with scornful lip he cries; 
<c Don Sancho's son would speak with 

you once more before he dies; 
Your kindness to my sainted sire is 

graven on my heart, 
And I would show my gratitude orce 

more before we part. 
Draw! for the last of Sancho's race is 
ready for your sword; — 

10 



Bernardo's blood should How by him 
by whom his sire's was poured! 

What wait you for, vile, craven wretch"' 
it was not thus you stood 

When laying out your fiendish plans to 
spill my father's blood. 

Draw! for I will not learn from you the 
assassin's coward trade, 

I scorn the lesson you have taught — 
unsheathe your murderous blade!" 

Roused by Bernardo's fiery taunts, the 
king at length engaged: 

He fought for life, but all in vain; un- 
equal strife he waged! 

Bernardo's sword has pierced his side — 
the tyrant's reign is o'er — 

"Father, 1 have fulfilled my vow, I 
thirst for blood no more." 



Antony and Cleopatra. 

WILLIAM H. LYTLE. 

I am dying, Egypt, dying; 

Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast, 
And the dark Plutonian shadows 

Gather on the evening blast. 
Let thine arm, oh Queen, support me, 

Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear; 
Hearken to the great heart secrets 

Thou, and thou alone, must hear. 

Though my scarred and veteran legions 

Bear their eagles high no more, 
And my wrecked and scattered galleys 

Strew dark Actium's fatal shore — 
Though no glittering guards surround 
me, 

Prompt to do thtir master's will, 
I must perish like a Roman — 

Die the death, Triumvir still. 

Let not Caesar's servile minions 

Mock the lion thus laid low; 
'Twas no foeman's hand that felled 
him — 

'Twas his own that dealt the blow; 
Here, then, pillowed on thy bosom, 

Ere yon star shall lose its ray, 
Him, who, drunk with thy caresses, 

Madly threw the world away. 



4 6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Should the base, plebian rabble 

Dare assail my tame at Rome, 
Where the noble spouse, Octavia, 

Weeps within her widowed home, 
Seek her! Say the gods have told me, 

Altars, angel's circling wings, 
That her blood, Avith mine commingled, 

Yet shall mount the throne of kings. 

As for thee, star-eyed Egyptian, 
Glorious sorceress of the Nile! 

Light the path to Stygian horrors 
With the splendor of thy smile; 

Give to Caesar crowns and arches- 
Let his brow the laurel twine; 

I can scorn all Caesar's triumphs, 
Triumphing in love like thine. 

I am dying. Egypt, dying; 

Hark! the insulting foeman's cry! 
They arecoming! Quick— my falchion! 

Let me face them ere I die. 
Ah, no more amid the battle 

Shall my voice exulting SAvell! 
Isis and Osiris guard thee — 

Cleopatra— Rome— fareAvell ! 



Cleopatra Dying. 

BY THOMAS S. COLLIER. 

Sinks the sun beloAv the desert,' 

Golden gloAvs the sluggish Nile; 
Purple flame crowns spring and temple, 

Lights up every ancient pile- 
Where the old gods now are sleeping; 

Isis and Osiris great, 
Guide me, help me, give me courage 

Like a Queen to meet my fate! 

"I am dying. Egypt, dying!" 

Let the Caesar's army come — 
I will cheat him of his glory, 

Though beyond the Styx I roam, 
Shall he drag this beauty Avith him 

While the crowd his triumph sings? 
No, no, never! I will shoAv him 

What lies in the blood of kings. 

Though he holds the golden sceptre, 
Rules the Pharaoh's sunny land, 

Where old Nilus rolls resistless, 
Through the SAveeps of silvery sand- 



He shall never say I met him 
FaAvniug, abject, like a slave— 

I Avill foil him, though to do it 
I must cross the Stygian wave. 

Oh, my hero, sleeping, sleeping— 

Shall I meet you on the shore 
Of Plutonian shadows? Shall we 

In death meet and love once mere' 
See, I follow in your footsteps — 

Scorn the Caesar and his might— 
For your love I will leap boldly 

Into realms of death and night, 

Down below the desert sinking, 

Fades Apollo's brilliant car, 
And from out the dis ant azure 

Breaks the bright gleam of a star:. 
Venus, Queen of Love and Beauty, 

Welcomes me to death's embrace,. 
Dying free, proud and triumphant. 

The last sovereign of my race. 

Dying! dying! I am coming, 

Oh, my hero, to your arms: 
You Avill welcome me, I knoAV it—. 

Guide me from all rude alarms, 
Hark! I hear the legions coming. 

Hear their cries of triumph swell; 
But, proud Caesar, dead I scorn you,. 

Egypt — Antony — fareAvell! 



The Storm- 
Cease rude Boreas blustering railei\ 

List ye landsmen all to me, 
Messmates hear a brother sailor 

Tell the dangers of the sea. 
From bounding MHoavs first in motion^ 

When the distant whirlwinds rise 
To the tempest troubled ocean, 

Where the seas contend with skies. 

Hark the boatsAvain hoarsely baAvling,, 

"By topsail sheets and halyards standi 
Down top gallants quick be hauling, 

Down your stay sails hand by hand v 
Now it freshens, set the braces, 

Quick the top sail sheets let go. 
Luff boys luff don't make wry faces, 

Up your topsails nimbly clow." 

Round us roars the tempest louder 
Think what fear our minds enthralls,, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



4? 



Harder yet, it yet blows harder, 
Now again the boatswain calls, 

"The top sail yard point to the wind 
boys. 
See all clear to reef each course. 

Let the fore sheet go, don't mind boys 
Though the weather should be worse. 

Fore and aft the sprit sail yard get, 

Reef the mizzen, set all clear, 
Hands up each preventive brace set, 

Man the fore yard, cheer lads cheer," 
Now the dreadful thunder's roaring 

Peal ou peal contending clash, 
On our heads tierce rain falls pouring 

In our eyes blue lightnings Hash. 

One wide water all around us, 

All above us one black sry, 
Different deaths at once surround us; 

Hark! what means that dreadful cry. 
"The foremasts gone,' 1 cries every 
tongue out 

O'er the lee 12 feet 'bove deck, 
A leak beneath the chest-trees sprung 
out, 

Call all hands to clear the wreck. 

"Quick the lanyards cut to pieces 

Come my hearts be stout and bold; 
Plumb the well the leak increases, 

Four feet water in the hold," 
While o'er the ship wild waves are 
beating, 

We our wives and children mourn. 
Alas! fiom hence there's no retreating, 

Alas! to them there's no return. 

Still the leak is gaining on us, 

Both chain pumps are choked below 
Heaven have mercy here upon us, 

For only that can save us now. 
O'er the lee beam is the land boys, 

Let the guns o'er board be thrown. 
To the pumps call every hand boys 

See, our mizzen mast is gone. 
The leak we've found, it cannot pour 
fast, 

We've lighted her a foot or more, 
Up and rig a tury foremast 

She rights, she rights boys, we're off 
shore. 

GEO. ALEX. STEVENS 



The Black Fox. 

WH ITT IE It. 

It was a cold and cruel night, 

Some forescore years ago, 
The clouds across the winter sky 

Were scudding to and fro; 
The air above was cold and keen, 

The earth was white below. 

Around an ancient fireplace 

A happy household drew; 
The husband and his own good wife. 

And children not a few: 
And bent above the spinning-wheel 

The aged graudame, too. 

The fire-light reddened all the room, 

It rose so high and strong, 
And mirth was in each pleasant eye 

Within that household throng; 
And while the graudame turned her 
wheel 

The good man hummed a song. 

At length spoke up a fair-haired girl, 

Some seven summers old, 
N ow graudame, tell the tale again 

Which yesterday you told, 
About the Black Fox and the men 

Who fallowed him so bold." 

"Yes tell it," said a dark-eyed boy, 
And "Tell it," said his brother; 

"Just tell the story of the Fox, 
We will not ask another." 

And all the children gathered close 
Around their old grandmother. 

Then lightly in her withered hands 
The grand ame turned her reel, 

And when the thread was wouni away 
She set aside her wheel,; 

And smiled with that peculiar joy 
The old and happy feel. 

'"Tis more than sixty years ago 
Since first the fox was seen — 

'Twas in the winter of the year, 
When not a leaf was green, 

Save where the dark old hemlock stoo<| 
The naked oaks between. 

"My father saw the creature first, 
One bitter winter's day— 



US 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



It passed so near that he could see 

Its fiery eyeballs play, 
And well he new and evil thing 

And foul, had crossed his way. 

•A hunter like my father then 

We never more shall see — 
v The mountain-cat was not more swift 

Of eye and foot than he, 
His aim was fatal in the air 

And on the tallest tree. 

"Yet close beneath his ready aim 

The Black Fox hurried on, 
And when the forest echoes mocked 

The sharp voice of his gun, 
The creature gave a frightful yell, 

Long, loud, but only one. 

"And there was something horrible 

And fiendish in that yell; 
Our good old parson heard it once, 

And I have heard him tell 
That it might well be likened to 

The fearful cry of hell. 

"Day after day that Fox- was seen, 
He prowled our forests through, 

Still gliding wild and spectre-like 
Before the hunter's view. 

And howling louder than the storm 
When savagely it blew. 

/'The Indians, when upon the wind 
That howl rose long and clear, 

Shook their wild heads mysteriously 
And muttered as in fear; 

Or veiled their ej^es, as if they knew 
An evil thing was near. 

''They say it was a Fox accurst 

By Hobomocko's will, 
That it was once a mighty chief 

Whom battle might not kill, 
But who, for some unspoken crime, 

Was doomed to wander still. 

"That every year, when all the. hills 
Were white with winter snow, 

And the tide of Salmon River ran 
The Gathering ice below, 

His howl was heard and his form was 
seen 
Still hurrying to and fro. 



"At length two gallant huuter youths, 

The boast and pride of all — 
The gayest in the hour of mirth 

The first at danger's call, 
Our playmates at the village school, 

Our partners at the ball — 

"Went forth to hunt the Sable Fox 
Beside that haunted stream, 

Where It so long had glided like 
The creature of a dream, 

Or like unearthly forms that dance 
Under the cold moonbeam! 

"They went away one winter day, 

When all the air was white, 
And thick and hazed with falling snow, 

And blinding to the sight; 
They bade us never fear for them, 

They would return by night. 

"The night fell thick and darkly down, 
And still the storm blew on; 

And yet the hunters came not back, 
Their task was yet undone; 

Nor came they with their words of 
cheer, 
Even with the morrow's sun. 

"And then our old men shook their 
heads, 

And the red Indians told 
Their tales of evils sorcery 

Until our blood ran cold — 
The stories of their Powwow seers, 

And withered hags of old. 

"They told us that our hunters 

Would never more return — 
That they would hunt for evermore 

Through tangled swamp and fern, 
And that their last and dismal fate 

No mortal e'er might learn. 

"And days and weeks passed slowly on, 
And yet they came not back, 

Nor evermore by stream or hill 
Was seen that form of black — 

Alas! for those who hunted still 
Within its fearful track! 

"But when the winter passed away, 

And early flowers began 
To bloom along the sunned hill-side, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



49 



And where the waters ran, 
There came unto my father's door 
A melancholy man. 

"His form had not the sigu of years, 
And yet his locks were white, 

And in his deep and restless eye 
There was a fearful light; 

And from its glance we turned away 
As from an adder's sight. 

"We placed our food before that man, 

So haggard and so wild,— 
He thrust it from his lips as he 

Had been a fretful child; 
And when we spoke with words of 
cheer, 

Most bitterly he smiled. 

"He smiled, aud then a gush of tears, 
And then a fierce, wild look, 

And then he murmured of the Fox 
Which haunted Salmon Brook, 

Until his hearers every one 
With nameless terror shook. 

"He turned away with a frightful cry, 

And hurried madly on, 
As if the dark and spectral thing 

Before his path had gone: 
We called him back, but he heeded not 

The kind and warning tone. 

"He came not back to us again, 
But the Indian hunters said 

That far, where the howling wilderness 
Its leafy tribute shed, 

They found our missing hunters — 
Naked and cold and dead. 

"Their grave they made beneath the 
shade 

Of the old solemn wood, 
Where oaks by Time alone hewn down 

For centuries had stood, 
And left them without shroud or prayer 

In the dark solitude. 

"The Indians always shun that grave — 
The wild deer treads not there — 

The green grass is not trampled down 
By catamount or bear — 

The soaring wild-bird turns away, 
Even in the upper air. 



"For people said that every year, 
W r hen winter snows are spread 

All over the face of the frozen earth, 
And the forest leaves are shed, 

The Spectre Fox comes forth and howla 
Above the hunters' bed." 



Don't Marry a Man to Reform Him. 
Don't marry a man to reform him; 

To God and your own self be true, 
Don't link to his vices your virture, 

You'll rue it, dear girl, if you do. 

No matter how fervent his pleadings,. 

Be not by his promises led, 
If he can't be a man while a w r ooing, 

He'll never be one when he's wed. 

Don't marry a man to reform him — 
To repent it, alas, when too late; 

The mission of wives least successful 
Is the making of crooked limbs 
straight. 

There's many a maiden has tried it, 
And proved it a failure at last, 

Better tread your life's pathway alone, 
dear, 
Than wed with a lover that's fast. 

Mankind's much the sa ne the world 
over; 

The exceptions you'll find are but faw; 
When the rule is defeat and disaster, 

The chances are great against you. 

Don't trust your bright hopes for the 

future, 
The beautiful crown of your youth, 
To the keeping of him who holds 

lightly 
His fair name of honor and truth. 

To honor and love you must promise, 
Don't pledge what you cannot fulfill, 

If he'll have no respect for himself, 
dear, 
Most surely you then never will. 

Tis told us the frown of a woman 
Is strong as the blow of a man, 

And the world will be better when 
women 
Frown on error as hard as they can. 



ISO 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



-Make virtue the price of your favor, 
Place wrong-doing under a ban; 

And let him who would win you and 
wed you 
Prove himself in full measure a mau. 



Cannot Call Her Mother. 

^he marriage rite is over; 

And though I turned aside 
To keep the guests from seeing 

The tears I could not hide, 
I wreathed my face in smiling, 

And led my little brother 
To greet my father's chosen — 

But I could not call her mother. 

She is a fair young creature, 

With meek and gentle air; 
With blue eyes soft and loving, 

And silken, sunny hair, 
1 know my father gives her 

The love he bore another. 
But if sue were an angel 

I could not call her mother. 

To-night I heard her singing 

A song I used to love, 
When its sweet notes were uttered 

By her who sings above. 
It pained my heart to hear it, 

And my tears I could not smother, 
For every word was hal'owed 

By the dear voice of my mother. 

They have taken mother's picture 

From the old accustomed place, 
And hung beside my father's 

A younger, fairer face, 
They have made the dear old chamber 

The boudoir of another; 
But I shall ne'er forget thee, 

My own, my angel mother. 

My father, in the sunshine 

Of happy days to come, 
May half forget the shadow 

That darkened our old home. 
His heart no more is lonely; 

But I and little brother 
Must still be orphan children — 

God can give us but one mother. 



The Old, Old Story. 
He was one of the fellows 

That could drink or leave it alone, 
With a fine, high scorn for common 
men 
Who were born with no backbone. 
"And why," said he, 'should a man of 
strength 
Den} r to himself the use 
Of the pleasant gift of the warm, red 
wine 
Because of its weak abuse?" 

He could quote at a banquet, 

With a manner half divine, 
Full fifty things the poets say 

About the rosy wine, 
And he could sing a spirited song 

About the lips of a lass, 
And drink a toast to her fair young 
worth 

In a sparkling, generous glass; 

And since this lordly fellow 

Could drink or leave it alone, 
He chose to drink at his own wild will 

Till his will was overthrown. 
And the lips of the lass are cold with 
grief, 

And her children shiver and shrink, 
For the man who once could leave it 
alone 

Is a pitiful slave to drink. 



Solitude- 
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; 

Weep, and you weep alone; 
For the sad earth must borrow its 
mirth, 

But has trouble enough of its own. 
Sing and the hills will answer; 

Sigh, it is lost to the air. 
The echoes bound to a joyful sound, 

But shrink from voicing care. 

Rejoice, and men will seek you; 

Grieve, and they turn and go; 
They want full measure of all your 
pleasure, 

But they do not need yourwoe. 
Be glad, and your friends are many; 

Be sad and you lose them all — 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



151 



There are none to decline your neetar's 
wine, 
But alone you must drink life's gall. 

Feast, and your halls are crowded; 

Fast, and the world goes by. 
Succeed and give and it helps you to 
live, 

But no man can help you to die, 
'There is room in the halls of pleasure 

For a large and lordly train, 
But one by one we must all file on 

Through the narrow isles of pain. 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



Children Nutting. 

Lucy Marion Blinn. 

Out in the pleasant sunshine of a bright 

October day, 
ttolieking,frolicking through the woods, 

scaring the birds away, 
Went a group of laughing girls and boys 

to play till the sun was set; 
Martha and Robbie, and Tom and Will, 

and Dolly, the household pet! 

They "'made believe"they were foragers 
bold, scouring the country o'er, 

To add to their scanty soldier fare from 
an enemy's fruitful store, 

And they charged on the squirrels' leaf y 
homes till they beat a quick re- 
treat; 

"While their precious hoards came rat- 
tling down at the noisy victor's 
feet. 

They played tag and follow my leader 

and scampered up and down, 
Covering each other in their glee with 

the leaves so crisp and brown, 
Till they huddled down to talk and rest 

and plan some pleasure new, 
While Martha unpacked the "goodies" 

for the hungry, bright-faced crew. 

"I'm too little to work," said Dolly, 

tossing her curls away, 
"You make the dinner, Mattie, dear, — 

then I'll be papa, and pray! 
I know just how he does it, 'cause I've 

looked through my fingers, so: 



And (rod will hear me better out-doors 
than he would in the house, I 
know!" 

Then clasping her baity lingers, and 

bo ving her leaf-crowned head, 
With its tangled lloss half over her face, 

shading its flush of red, 
Sweetly the innocent little voice stole 

out on the waiting air, 
And up to the children's Father floated 

this childish prayer: 

"I thank you, God, 'way up in the skv, 
for these nice things to eat; 

For this happy day in the pleasant 
woods, for the squirrels and bird- 
ies sweet; 

For fathers and mothers to love us — 
only Robbie, his mother's dead; 

But I guess you know that, God — you 
took her away, they said! 

"If you please, don't make my mother 

die; I shouldn't know what to do! 
I couldn't take care of myself at all; 

you'd have to get me, too! 
Make all the da} T s just as good as this, 

and don't let Robbie cry — 
That's all little Dolly knows to pray, 

our Father in heaven, good-bye!" 

Then the sweet child voices rose anew 
like a beautiful refrain, 

And the birds in the brown leaves over- 
head caught up the merry strain, 

Aud twittered it back till the yellow 
sun was lost in the hazy west, 

W T hen birds and children fluttered home, 
each to a sheltering nest. 



The Burial of Moses. 
By Nebo's lonely mountain, 

On this side Jordan's wave, 
In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave ; 
But no man dug that sepulcher, 

And no man saw it e'er, 
For the angels of God upturned the sod, 

And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 
That ever passed on earth ; 



52 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



But no man heard the tramping, 

Or saw the train go forth ; 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done, 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun. — 

Noiselessly as the springtime 

Her crown of verdure weaves, 
And all the trees on all the hills 

Open their thousand leaves. — 
So, without sound of music, 

Or voice of them that wept, 
Silently down from the mountain crown 

The great procession swept. 

Lo! when the warrior dieth, 

His comrades in the war, 
With arms reversed, and muffled drum, 

Follow the funeral car.. 
They show the banners taken, 

They tell his battles won, 
And after him lead his masterless steed, 

While peals the minute gun, 

Amid the noblest of the land 

Men laid the sage to rest, 
And give the bard an honored place, 

With costly marble dressed, 
In the great 'Minster transept, 

Where lights like glories fall, 
And the choir sings, and the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 

This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword ; 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 
And never earth's philospher 

Traced, with his golden pen, 
On the deathless page, truths half so sage 

As he wrote down for men. 

And had he not high honor ? 

The hill-side for his pall , 
To live in state while angels wait, 

With stars for tapers tall : 
And the dark rock pines, like tossing 
plumes, 

Over his bier to wave ; 
And God's own hand, in the lonely land, 

To lay him in the grave, — 



In that deep grave, without a name, 

Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again,— O wondrous 
thought ! — 

Before the judgment day ; 
And stand, with glory wrapped around, 

On the hills he never trod, 
And speak of the strife that won our 
life, 

With th' incarnate Son of God. 

O lonely tomb in Moab's land ! 

O dark Beth-peors hill ! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to be still. 
God hath his mysteries of grace, — 

Ways that we can not tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep* 

Of him he loved so well. 

C. F. Alexander. 



The Charcoal Man- 
Though rudely blows the wintry blasts 
And sifting snows fall white and fast, 
Mark Haley drives along the street, 
Perched high upon his wagon seat; 
His somber face the storm defies, 
And thus from morn till eve he cries, — - 

"Charco'! charco!" 
While echo faint and far replies, — 

"Hark, O! hark, O!" 
"Charco'!"— "Hark, O!"— Such cheery 

sounds 
Attend him on his daily rounds. 

The dust begrimes his ancient hat; 

His coat is darker far than that; 

'Tis odd to see his sooty form 

All speckled with the feathery storm; 

Yet in his honest bosom lies 

Nor spot, nor speck, — though still he 

cries, — 
"Charco'! charco'!" 
And many a roguish lad replies, — 

"Ark, ho! ark, ho!" 
"Charco'!" — "Ark, ho!"- Such various 

sounds 
Announce Mark Haley's morning 

rounds. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



53 



Thus all the cold and wintry clay 
He labors much for little pay; 
Yet feels no less of happiness 
Than many a richer man, I guess, 
Whe:i through the shades of eve he 

spies 
The light of his own home, and cries, — 

"Charco'! charco'!" 
And Martha from the door replies, — 

"Mark, ho! Mark, ho!" 
4 'Charco'!"— "Mark, ho!"— Such joy 

abounds 
When he has closed his daily rounds. 

The hearth is warm, the fire is bright; 
And w T hile his hand, washed clean and 

white, 
Holds Martha's tender hand once more, 
His glowing face bends fondly o'er 
The crib wherein his darling lies, 
And in a coaxing tone he cries, 

"Charco'! Charco'!" 
And baby with a laugh replies, — 

"Ah, go! ah, go!" 
"Charco'!"— "Ah, go!"— while at the 

sounds 
The mother's heart with gladness 
bounds. 

Then honored be the charcoal man! 
Though dusky as an African, 
'Tis not for you, that chance to be 
A little better clad than he, 
His honest manhood to despise, 
Although from morn till eve he cries, — 

"Charco'!" charco'!" 
While mocking echo still replies, — 

"Hark, O! hark, O!" 
"Charco'!"— "Hark, O!"— Long may 

the sounds 
Proclaim Mark Haley's daily rounds! 
J. T. Trowbridge. 



Three Grains of Corn. 
Give me three grains of corn, mother — 

Only three grains of corn: 
It will keep the little life I have 

Till the coming of the morn. 
I am dying of hunger and cold moth- 
er, — 
Dying of hunger and cold; 



And half the agony of such a death 
My lips have never told. 

It has gnawed like a wolf at my breast, 
mother, 
A wolf that is fierce for blood; 
All the livelong day and the night be- 
side, 
Gnawing for lack of food. 
I dreamed of bread in my sleep, moth 
er, 
And the sight was heaven to see; 
I awoke with an eager famishing lip, 
But you had no bread for me. 

How could I look to you, mother — 

How could I look to you, 
For bread to give to your starving boy 

When you were starving too? 
For I read the famine in your cheek, 

And in your eyes so wild, 
And'I felt it in your bony hand, 

As you laid it on your child. 

The Queen has land and gold, mother — 

The Queen has lands and gold, 
While you are forced to your empty 
breast 

A skeleton babe to hold — 
A babe that is dying of w r ant, mother, 

As I am dying now, 
With a ghastly look in its sunken eyes, 

And famine upon its brow. 

What has poor Ireland done, mother, 

What has poor Ireland done, 
That the w r orld looks on and sees us 
starve, 

Perishing one by one? 
Do the men of England care not, moth- 
er — 

The great men and the high, 
For the suffering sons of Erin's Isle, 

Whether they live or die? 

There is many a brave heart here, 
mother, — 
Dying of want and cold, 
While only across the channel, mother, 

Are many that roll in gold; 
There are rich and proud men there, 
mother, 
With wondrous w r ealth to view, 



154 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



And the bread they fling to their dogs 
to-night 
Would give life to me and you. 

Come nearer to my side, mother. 

Come nearer to my side, 
And hold me fondly as you held 

My father when he died; 
Quick, for I eaunot see you, mother. 

My breath is almost gone, 
Mother: dear mother: ere I die 

Give me three grains of corn. 

Miss Edwakds. 1847. 



Don t Forget the Old Folks. 

Don't forget the old folks. 

Love them more and more, 
As they with unshrinking feet 

Xear the "shining: shore." 
Let your words be tender, 

Loving, soft and slow; 
Let their last days be the best 

They have known below. 

Don't forget poor father, 

With his failing sight, 
With his locks, once thick and brown. 

Scanty now, and white; 
Though he may be childish. 

Still do you be kind — 
Think of him as years ago, 

With his master mind. 

Don't forget dear mother, 

With her furrowed brow, 
Once as fair, and smooth and white, 

As the driven snow. 
Are her steps uncertain? 

Is her hearing poor? 
Guide her gently till she stands 

Safe at Heaven's door. 

Don't forget the old folks, 

Love them more and more. 
As they with unshrinking feet 

Near the "shining shore." 
Let your words be tender. 

Loving, soft and slow; 
Let their last days be the best 

Tney have known below. 



A Woman's Question- 
' Do you know you have asked for the 
costliest thing 
Ever made by the hand above — 
A woman's heart, and a woman's life, 
And a woman's wonderful love ? 

Do you know you have asked for this 
priceless thing 
As a child might ask for a toy ? 
Demanding what others have died to 
win, 
With the reckless dash of a boy. 

You have written my lesson of duty out, 
Manlike you have questioned me : 

Now stand at the bar of my woman's 
soul 
Until 1 shall question thee. 

You require your mutton shall always be 
hot, 
Your socks and your shirts shall be 
whole. 
I require your heart to be true as God's 
stars, 
And pure as heaven your soul. 

You require a cook for your mutton and 
beef, 
I require a far better thing ; 
A seamtress you're wanting for stock- 
ings and shirts — 
I look for a man and a king. 

A king for a beautiful realm called home, 
And a man that the maker, God, 

Shall look upon as he did the tirst. 
And say. " It is very good." 

I am fair and young, but the rose will 
fade 
From my soft, young cheek one day , 
Will you love me then, 'mid the falling 
leaves, 
As you did 'mid the bloom of May ! 

Is your heart an ocean so strong and 
deep 

I may launch my all on its tide ? 
A loving woman tiuds heaven or hell 

On the day she is made a bride. 

I require all things that are grand and 
true, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



»55 



All things that a man should be : 
Xf you give this all I would stake my 
life 
To be all you demand of me. 

If you cannot do this, a laundress and 
cook 

You can hire with little to pay ; 
But a woman's heart and a woman's life 

Are not to be won that way." 



Home and Friends. 
There's a power to make each hour 

As sweet as heaven designed it : 
-Nor need we roam, to bring it home, 

Though few there be that find it. 
"We seek too high for things close by, 

And lose what nature gave us ; 
£or life hath here no charms so dear 

As home and friends around us. 

\Ve oft destroy the present joy 

And future hopes, nor praise them. 
While flowars as sweet bloom at our feet 

If we'd but stoop to raise them . 
-For things so fair still greater are 

When youth's bright spell hath bound 
us ; 
-But soou we're taught that earth has 
naught 

Like home and friends around us. 

The friends that speed in time of need, 

When hope's last reed is shaken. 
Do show us still that, come what will, 

We are not quite forsaken. 
Though all were night, if but the light 

From friendship's alter crowned us, 
N T would prove the bliss of earth was 
this— 

Our home and friends around us. 



When I 60 Home, 
tt comes to me often in silence, 

When the firelight splutters low — 
When the black, uncertain shadows 

Seem wraiths of the long ago ; 
Always with a throb of heartache, 

That shrills each pulsive vein, 
Comes the old, unquiet longing 

For the peace of home again. 



I'm sick of the roar of the cities 

And of faces old and strange ; 
I know where there's warmth of wel- 
come, 

And my yearning fancies range 
Back to the dear old homestead, 

With au aching sense of pain ; 
Bnt there'll be joy iu the coming 

W T hen I go home again. 

When I go home again ! There's music 

That may never die away, 
And it seems the hand of angels, 

On a mystic harp, at play, 
Have touched with a yearning sadness 

On a beautiful, broken strain, 
To which is m} T fond heart wording — 

When I go home again. 

Outside of my darkening window 

Is the great world's crash and din, 
And slowly the autumn's shadows 

Come drifting, drifting in. 
Sobbing, the night wind murmurs 

To the plash of the autumn rain ; 
But I dream of the glorious greeting 

When I go home again. 

Eugene Field. 



Sufferings of the Pilgrims. 

EVERETT. 

From the dark portals of the star- 
chamber, and in the stern text of the 
acts of uniformity, the pilgrims receiv- 
ed a commission more efficient than 
any that ever bore the royal seal. Their 
banishment to Holland was fortunate; 
the decline of their little company in 
the strange land was fortunate; the dif- 
ficulties which they experienced in get- 
ting the royal consent tc banish them- 
selves to this wilderness were fortunate; 
all the tears and heart-breakings of 
that ever memorable parting at Delft- 
haven, had the happiest influence on 
the rising destinies of New England. 

All this purified the ranks of the 
settlers. These rough touches of for- 
tune brushed off the light, uncertain, 
selfish spirits. They made it a grave, 



1 5 6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Bolemn, self-denying expedition, and 
required of those who engaged in it to 
be so too. They east a broad shadow 
of thought and seriousness over the 
cause; and if this sometimes deepened 
into melancholy and bitterness, can we 
find no apology for such a human weak- 
ness? 

Their trials of wandering and exile, 
of the ocean, the winter, the wilder- 
ness, and the savage foe, were the final 
assurances of success. It was this that 
put far away from our fathers* cause, 
all patrician softness, all hereditary 
claims to preeminence. Xo effeminate 
nobility crowded into the dark and aus- 
tere ranks of the pilgrims. 

Methinks [ see one solitary, adven- 
trous vessel, the Mayflower, of a for- 
lorn hope, freighted with the prospects 
of a future state, and bound across the 
unknown sea. I behold it pursuing, 
with a thousand misgivings, the un- 
certain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise 
and set, and weeks and months pass, 
and winter surprises them on the 
deep, but brings them not the sight of 
the wished-for shore. I see them now 
scantily supplied with provisions, 
crowded almost 10 suffocation in their 
ill-stored prison; delayed by calms, 
pursuing a circuitous route; and now 
driven in fury before the raging tem- 
pest, on the high and giddy waves. 
The awful voice of the storm l.owls 
through the rigging. 

The laboring masts seem straining 
from their base; the dismal sound of 
the pumps is heard; the ship leaps, as 
it were from billow to billow; the ocean 
breaks, and settles with enguliing 
floods over the floating deck, and beats 
with deadening, shivering weight, 
against the staggering vessel. I see 
them escaped from these perils, pur- 
suing their all but desperate undertak- 
ing, and landed at last, after a five 
months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks 
of Plymouth; weak and weary from the 
voyage, poorly armed, scantily pro- 



visioned, depending on the charity of 
their ship-master for a draught of beer 
on board, drinking nothing but water 
on shore, without shelter, without 
means, surrounded by hostile tribes. 

Shut now the- volume of history, and 
tell me on any principle of human 
probability, what shad be the fate o$ 
this handful of adventurers? Tell me 
men of military science, in how many 
months were they all swept off by the 
thirty savage tribes, enumerated with- 
in the early limits of New England?- 
Tell me, politician, how long did a 
shadow of a colony, on which your 
conventions and treaties had not smil- 
ed, languish on the distaut coast? 
Student of history, compare for me the 
baffled projects, the deserted settle- 
ments, the abandoned adventures of 
other times, and find the parallel of 
this. 

Was it the winter's storm, beating 
upon the houseless heads of women 
and children? was it hard labor and 
spare meals? was it disease? was it 
the tomahawk? was it the deep malady 
of a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise* 
and a broken heart, aching in its last 
moments at the recollection of the 
loved and left, beyond the sea? was it 
some, or all of these united, that hur- 
ried this forsaken company to their 
melancholy fate? And is it possible* 
that neither of these causes, that 
not all combined, were able to blast 
this bud of hope? Is it possible that 
from a beginning so feeble, so frail* 
so worthy not so much of admiration 
as of pity, there has gone forth a pro- 
gress so steady, a growth so wonderful, 
an expansion so ample, a reality so im- 
portant, a promise, yet to be fulfilled, 
so glorious? 



The Pilgrims. 

MRS. SIGOURXEY. 

How slow yon tiny vessel plows the 
main! amid the heavy billows now she 
seems a toiling atom; then from wave 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



157 



to wave leaps madly by the tempest 
lashed, or reels, half wrecked, through 
gulfs profound. Moons wax and wane, 
but still that lonely traveler treads the 

deep; 

I see an ice-bound coast, toward 
which she steers with such a tardy 
movement, that it seems stern Winters 
hand hath turned her keel t'> stone, and. 
sealed his victory on her slippery 
shrouds. They land!— They land! 

Forth they come from their long pris- 
on, hardy forms, that brave the world's 
unkindness, men of hoary hair, and vir- 
gins of firm heart, and matrons grave. 
Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them 
round, eternal forests, and unyielding 
earth, aud savage men who through the 
thickest peer with vengeful arrow. 

What could lure their steps to this 
drear desert? Ask of him who left his 
father's home to roam through Harau's 
wilds, distrasting no: the guide who 
railed him forth, nor doubting, though 
a stranger, that his seed should be as 
■ocean's sands. 

But yon lone bark hath spread her 
parting sail. They crowd the strand, 
those few, lone pilgrims. Can ye scan 
the woe that wrings their bosoms, as the 
last frail link binding to man, and hab- 
itable earth, is severed? Can ye tell 
what pangs were there, what keen re- 
grets, what sickness of the heart, what 
yearnings o'er their forfeit land of birth, 
their distant dear oues? 

Long, with straining eyes they watch 
the lessening speck. Hear ye no shriek 
of anguish, when that bitter loneliness 
sank down into their bosoms? No ! 
they turn back to their dreary, famish- 
ed huts, aud pray! Pray.— and the ills 
that hauut this transient life fade into 
air. Up in each girde I breast there 
sprang a rooted and mysterious 
strength, — A loftiness to face a world 
in arms, to strip the pomp from scepter 
and to lay upon the sacred alter the 
warm blood of slain all'ectious, when 
they rise between the soul aud God. 



And can ye deem it strange that from 
their planting such a branch should 
bloom as nations envy? Would a germ, 
embalmed with prayer'8 pure tear- 
drops, strike no deeper root than that 
which mad ambition's hand doth strew 
upon the winds, to reap the winds 
again? Hid by its veil of waters from 
the hand of greedy Europe, their bold 
vine spread forth in giant strength. Its 
early clusters, crushed in England's 
wine-press, gave the tryant host a 
draught of deadly wine. 

O, ye who boast in your free veins 
the blood of sires like these, lose not 
their .lineaments. Should Mammon 
cling too close around your heart, or 
wealth beget that bloated luxury which 
eats the core from manly virtue, or the 
tempting world make faint the Christ- 
ian purpose in your soul, turn ye to 
Plymouth's beach, and on that rock 
kneel in their footprints, and renew the 
vow thev breathed to God. 



Fifty Years Ago. 
W. D. Gallagher. 
A song for the early times out west, 

And our green old forest home, 
Whose pleasant memories freshly yet 

Across the bosom come: 
A song for the free aud gladsome life 

In those early days we led, 
With a teeming soil beneath our feet. 

And a smiliug heaven o'erhead! 
Oh, the waves of life danced merrily, 

And had a joyous flow, 
In the days when we were pioneers. 

Fifty years ago! 

The hunt, tue shot, the glorious chase, 

The captured elk or deer; 
The camp, the big bright lire, and then 

The rich and wholesome cheer; 
The sweet, sound sleep. at dead of night, 

By our camp-tire blazing high — 
Unbroken by the wolf's long howl, 

And the panther springing by. 
Oh, merrily passed the time, despite 

Our wily Indian foe, 



i 5 8 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



In the days when we were pioneers, 
Fifty years ago! 

We shunned not labor; when 'twas due 

We wrought with right good will; 
And for the home we won for them 

Our children bless us still. 
We lived not hermit lives; but oft 

In social converse met; 
And fires of love were kindled then, 

That burn on warmly yet. 
Oh, pleasantly the stream of life 

Pursued its constant How, 
In the days that we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago! 

We felt that we were fellow-men ; 

We felt we were a band ■ 
Sustained here in the wilderness, 

By Heaven's upholding hand. 
And when the solemn Sabbath came, 

We gathered in the wood, 
And lifted up our hearts in prayer 

To God, the only Good. 
Our Temples then were earth and sky; 

None other did we know, 
In the days when we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago ! 

Our forest life was rough and rude, 

And dangers closed us round, 
But here, amid the green old trees, 

Freedom we sought and found. 
Oft through our dwellings wintry blasts 

Would rush with shriek and moan; 
We cared not — though they were but 
frail, 

We felt they were our own! 
Oh, free and manly lives we led, 

Mid verdure or mid snow, 
In the days when we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago ! 

But now our course of life is short; 

And as, from day to day, 
We're walking on with halting step, 

And fainting by the way, 
Another land, more bright than this, 

To our dim sighs appears, 
And on our way to it we'll soon 

Again be pioneers! 
And while we linger, we may all 



A backward glance still throw 
To the days when we were pioneers, 
Fifty years ago ! 

.1^1 — » 

The Indian. As He Was, And As He Is. 

SPRA.GUE. 

1. Not many generations ago, where 
you now sit circled with all that exalts 
and embellishes civilized life, the rank 
thistle nodded in the wind, and the wild 
fox dug his hole unscared. Here lived 
another race of beings. Beneath the 
same sun that rolls over your heads, the 
Indian hunter pursued the panting deer ; 
gazing on the same moon that smiles for 
you, the Indian lover wooed his dusky 
mate. 

2. Here the wigwam blaze beamed on 
the tender and helpless, the council-fire 
glared on the wise and daring. Now- 
they paddled the light canoe along your 
rocky shores. Here they warred ; the 
echoing whoop, the bloody grapple, the 
defying death-song, all were here; and 
when the tiger strife was over, here, 
curled the smoke of peace. 

3. Here, too, they worshiped ; and 
from many a dark bosom went up a pure 
prayer to the great Spirit. He had not 
written his laws for them on tables of 
stone, but he had traced them on the 
tables of their hearts. The poor child of 
nature knew not the God of revelation, 
but the God of the universe he acknow-. 
ledged in every thing around. 

4. He beheld him in the star that sunk 
behind his lonely dwelling ; in the sacred 
orb that flamed on him from his mid-, 
day throne; in the flower that snapped 
in the morning breeze ; in the lofty pine, 
that defied a thousand whirlwinds ; in 
the timid warbler, that never left his nat-. 
ive grove ; in the fearless eagle, whose 
untired pinion was wet in clouds ; in the 
worm that crawled at his feet ; and in 
his own matchless form, glowing with a 
spark of that light, to whose mysterious 
Source he bent in humble, though blinds 
adoration. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



159 



5. And all this has passed away. A- 
cross the ocean came a pilgrim bark, 
bearing the seeds of life and death. The 
former were sown for you ; the latter 
sprang up in the path of the simple nat- 
ive Two hundred years have changed 
the character of a great continent, and 
blotted forever from its face a whole 
people. Art has usurped the bowers of 
nature, and the anointed children of ed- 
ucation have been too powerful for the 
tribes of the ignorant. 

6. Here and there a stricken few re- 
main ; but how unlike their bold, un- 
tamed, untameable progenitors ! The 
Indian of falcon glance and lion bearing, 
the theme of the touching ballad, the he- 
ro of the pathetic tale, is gone ! and his 
degraded offspring crawl upon the soil 
where he walked in majesty, to remind 
us how miserable is man, when the foot 
of the conqueror is on his neck. 

7. As a race, they have withered from 
the land. Their arrows are broken, 
their spriugs are dried up, their cabins 
in the dust. Their council-fires has long 
since gone out on the shore, and their 
war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden 
west. Slowly and sadly they climb the 
distant mountai :s, and read their doom 
in the setting sun. They are shrinking 
before the mighty tide which is pressing 
them away ; they must soon hear the 
roar of the last wave, which will aettle 
over them forever. 

8. Ages hence, the inquisitive white 
man, as he stands by some growing city, 
will ponder on the structure of their dis- 
turbed remains, and wonder to what 
manner of person they belonged. They 
will live only in the songs and chronicles 
of their exterminators. Let these be 
faithful to their rude virtues as men, and 
pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as 
a people. 



The Fall of Tecumseh. 

NEW YORK STATESMAN. 

What heavy-hoofed coursers the wilder 



ne6s roam, 



To the war-blast indignantly tramp- 
ing? 
Their mouths are all white, as if frosted 
with foam; 
The steel bit impatiently champing. 

'Tifl the hand of the mighty that grasps 
the rein, 
Conducting the free and fearless, 
Ah! see them rush forward with wild 
dihdain, 
Through paths unfrequented and 
cheerless. 

From the mountains had echoed the 
charpe of death, 
Announcing that chivalrous sally, 
The savage was heard with untrem- 
bling breath, 
To pour his response from the valley. 

One moment, and nought but the bugle 
was heard, 
And nought but the war-whoop giv- 
en; 
The next, aud the sky was convulsively 
stirred, 
As if by the lightning riven. 

The din of the steed, and the sabred 
stroke, 
The blood-stifled gasp of the dying, 
Were screened by the curling sulphur- 
smoke, 
That upward went wildly flying. 

In the mist that hung over the field of 

blood, 

The chief of the horsemen contended. 

His rowells were bathed in the purple 

flood, 

That fast from his charger descended. 

That steed reeled, and fell, in the van 
of the fight, 
But the rider repressed not his dar- 
ing, 
Till met by a savage, whose rank aixl 
might 
Were shown by the plume he was 
wearing. 

The moment was fearful; a mightier 
foe 



i6o 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Had ne'er swung the battle-ax o'er 
him; 
But hope nerved his arm for a desper- 
ate blow, 
And Tecumseh fell prostrate before 
him. 

O ne'er may the nations again be curs- 
ed 
With conflict so dark and appalling! — 
Foe grappled with foe till the life- 
blood burst 
From their agonized bosoms in fall- 
ing. 

Gloom, silence, and solitude, rest on 
the spot 
Where the hopes of the red men per- 
ished; 
But the fame of the hero who fell shall 
not, 
By the virtuous, cease to be cherish- 
ed. 

He fought in defense of his kindred 
and king, 

With 2 spirit most loving and loyal; 
And long shall the Indian warrior sing 

The deeds of Tecumseh, the royal. 

The lightning of intellect flashed from 
his eye, 
In his arm slept the force of the thun- 
der, 
But the bolt passed the suppliant 
harmlessly by. 
And left left the freed captive to 
wonder. 

Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he 
sleeps. 
With a rudely-built tumulus o'er him; 
And the bright-bosomed Thames, in its 
majesty, sweeps, 
By the mound where his followers 
bore him. 



Man "Was Made to Mourn. 

BY ROBERT BURNS. 

When chill November's surely made 

fields and forests bare, 
One evening, as I wandered forth along 

the banks of Ayr, 



I 'spied a man whose aged steps seemed 

weary, worn with care, 
His face was furrowed o'er with years, 

and hoary was his hair. 

''Young stranger, whither wanderest 
thou?" began the reverend sage; 

"Does thirst of wealth thy steps con- 
strain, or youthful pleasure's 
rage ? 

Or, haply, prpssed with cares aud woes, 
too soon thou hast began 

To wander forth with me to mourn the 
miseries of Man! 

"The sun that overhangs yon moors, 

out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labor to support a 

haughty Lordling's pride — 
I've seen yon weary winter's sun twice 

forty times return; 
And every time has added proofs that 

'Man was made to mourn." 

"O Man! while in thy early years, how 
prodigal of time! 

Misspending all thy precious hours, thy 
glorious youthful prime! 

Alternate follies take the sway; licen- 
tious passions burn. 

Which tenfold force give Nature's law. 
that Man was made to mourn:' 

Look not alone on youthful prime, or 
manhood's active might; 

Man then is useful to his kind, sup- 
ported is his right; 

But see him on the edge of life, with 
cares and sorrows worn; 

Then age and want— O ill-matched 

p a i r :— show, • Man was made to mourn !' 

A few seem favorites of Fate, in 

Pleasure's lap caressed; 
Yet think not all the rich and great are 

likewise truly blessed: 
But. oh! what crowds in every land are 

wretched and forlorn: 
Through weary life this lesson learn, 

that -Man was made to mourn!' 

Many and sharp the numerous ills in- 
woven with our frame; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



161 



More pointed still, we make ourselves, 
regret, remorse, and shame; 

And Man, whose heaven-erected face 
the smiles of Love adorn — 

Man's inhumanity to Man makes count- 
less thousands mourn! 

See yonder poor o'er-labored weight, 

so abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth to give 

him leave to toil; 
And his lordly fellow-worm the poor 

petition spurn! 
Unmindful though a weeping wife and 

helpless offspring mourn. 

If I'm designed young Lordling's slave- 
by Nature's law designed — 

Why was an independent wish, e'er 
planted in my mind? 

If not, why am I subjected to his cruel- 
ty or scorn? 

Or why has Man the will and power to 
make his fellow mourn? 

Yet let not this too much, my Son, dis- 
turb thy youthful breast; 

This partial view of human kind is 
surely not the best. 

The poor, oppressed, honest man, had 
never, sure, been born, 

Had there not been some recompense 
to comfort those that mourn. 

O death, the poor man's dearest friend, 

the kindest and the best; 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs are 

laid with thee to rest! 
The great the wealth}', fear thy blow, 

from pomp and pleasure torn; 
But oh! a blessed relief to those that 

weary laden, mourn. 



Bernardo Dv ; l Carpio- 

BY MRS. HE MANS. 

The warrior bowed his crested head, 

and tamed his heart of tire, 
And sued the haughty king to free his 

long-imprisoned sire; 
"I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I 

bring my captive train, 
I pledge -thee faith, my liege, my lord! 

— O! break my father's chain!" 

11 



— "Rise, rise! even now thy father 

comes, a ransomed man this day! 
Mount thy good horse; and thou and 

I will meet him on bis way." 
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and 

bounded on his steed, 
And urged, as if wi.li lance in rest, the 

charge's foamy speed. 

Andlo! from far, as on they pressed, 

there came a glittering band, 
With one- that 'midst them stately rode, 

as a leader in the land; 
"Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there 

in very truth is he, 
The father whom thy faithful heart 

hath yearned so long to see." 

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast 

heaved, his cheek's hue came and 

went: 
He reached that gray- haired chieftain's 

side, aud there, dismounting, 

bent; 
A lowly knee to earth -he bent, his 

father's hand he took — 
What was there in its touch that all his 

lieiy spirit shook? 

That hand was cold — a frozen thing — it 

dropped from his like lead! 
He looked up to the face above — the 

face was of the dead! 
A plume waved o'er the noble brow — 

the brow w r as fixed aud white: 
He met, at last, his father's eyes — but 

in them was no -light! 
Up from the ground he sprang and 

gazed — but who could paint that 

gaze ? 
They hushed their very hearts that saw 

its horror and amaze — 
They might have chained him as before 

that stony form he stood; 
For the power was stricken from his 

arm, and from his lip the blood. 

"Father!" at length he murmured low, 
and wept like childhood then; 

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the 
tears of warlike men! 

He thought on all his glorious hopes, 
and all his young renown — 



162 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



He flung his falchion from his side, and 
in the dust sat down. 

Then covering with his steel-gloved 
hands his darkly mournful brow. 

"No more, there is no more." he said, 
"to lift the sword for now: 

My king is false. — my hope betrayed: 
My father— O: the worth. 

The glory and the loveliness, are pass- 
ed away from earth: 

"I thought to- stand where banners 

waved, my sire, beside thee yet! 
I would that there our kindred blood 

on Spain's free soil had met! 
Thou vould'st have known my spirit 

then;— for thee my fields were 

wou; 
And thou hast perished in thy chains, 

as though thou h;tdst no son!" 

Then starting from the ground once 

more, he seized the monarch's 

rein. 
Amidst the pale and wildered dooks of 

all the courtier train; 
And, with a tierce, o'ermastering grasp, 

the rearing war-horse led. 
And sternly set them face to face — the 

king before the dead: — 

"Came I not forth. upon thy pledge, my 

■ father's hand to kiss? — 
Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! 

and tell me what is this? 
The voice. the glance, the heart I sought, 

— give answer, where are they? 
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, 

send life through this cold clay! 

"Into these glassy eyes pnt ligit; — be 
still! keep down thine ire! — 

Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — 
this earth has not my sire: 

Give me back him for whom I strove, 
for whom my blood was shed? 

Thou canst not! — and a king! — his dust 
be mountains on thy head." 

He loosed the steed — his slack hand 
fell; — upon the silent face 

He cast one long, deep, troubled look, 
then turned from that sad place: 



His hope was crushed, his after fate 
untold in martial strain:— 

His banner led the spears no more s 
amidst the hills of Spain. 



The Lord of Burleigh. 

TENNYSON. 

In her ear he whispers gayly. — 

" If my heart by signs can tell, 
Maiden, I have watched thee daily, 

And I think thou lov*st me well." 
She replies, in accent^ fainter, — 

"There is none I love like thee." 
He is but a landscape painter. 

And a village maiden - 
He to lips that fondly falter, 

Presses his, without reproof ; 
Leads her to the village altar, 

And they leave her father's roof , 
"I can make no marriage present ; 

Little can I give my wife ; 
Love will make our cottage pleasant. 

And I love thee more than life." 

Then, by parks and lodges going, 

See the-lordly castles stand ; 
Summer woods, about them blowing. 

Made a murmur in the land. 
From deep thought himself he rouses,. 

Says to her that loves him well, — 
"Let us see these handsome houses*. 

Where the wealthy nobles dwell.*' 
So she goes, by, him attended, 

Hears him lovingly converse, 
Sees whatever fair and splendid 

Lay betwixt his home and hers ; 
Parks with oak and chestnut shady. 

Parks aud ordered gardens great ^ 
Ancient homes of lord and lady, 

Built for pleasure and for state. 

All he shows her makes him dearer ; 

Evermore she seems to gaze 
On that cottage growing nearer, 

Where they twain will spend their 
days. 
O, but she will love him truly ; 

He shall have a cheerful home ; 
She will order all things duly. 

When beneath his roof they come. 
Thus her heart rejoices greatly,. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



16J 



Till a gateway she discerns, 
With armorial bearings stately, 

And beneath the gate she turns, — 
Sees a mansion more majestic 

Than all those she saw before ; 
Many a gallant, gay domestic 

Bows before them at the door. 

And they speak iu gentle murmur, 

When they answer to his call, 
While he treads with footstep firmer, 

Leading on from hall to hall. 
And, while now she wonders blindly, — 

Nor the meaning can divine, 
Proudly turns he round, and kindly, — 

"All of this is mine and thine. " 
Here he lives in state and bounty, 

Lord of Burleigh, fair and free ; 
Not a lord in all the country 

Is so great a lord as he. 
All at once the color iiushes 

Her sweet face from brow to chin : 
As it were with shame she blushes, 

And her spirit changed within. 

Then her countenance all over 

Pale again as death did prove ; 
But he clasped her like a lover, 

And he cheered her soul with love. 
43o she strove against her weakness, 

Though at times hei spirit sank ; 
Shaped her heart, with woman's meek- 
ness, 

To all duties of her rank : 
And a gentle consort made he, 

And her gentle mind was such, 
That she grew a noble lady, 

And the people loved her much. 

But a trouble weighed upon her. 

And perplexed her night and morn, 
With the burden of an hor.or 

Unto which she was not born. 
Faint she grew, and ever fainter, 

As she murmured, — "O, that he 
Were once more that landscape painter, 

Which did win my heart from me !" 
So she drooped and drooped before him, 

Fading slowly from his side ; 
Three fair children first she bore him, 

Then, before her time, she died. 



Weeping, weeping late and early, 

Walking up and pacing down, 
Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh, 

Burleigh House, by Stamford town. 
And he came to look upon her, 

And he looked at her and said, — 
" Bring the dr. ss, and put it on her, 

That she wore when she was wed." 
Then her people, softly treading. 

Bore to earth her body dressed 
In the dress that she was wed in, 

That her spirit might have rest. 



The Diver. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER BY 

BULWEB. 

"Oh, where is the knight or the squire 

so bold 
As to dive to the howling Charybdis 

below? — 
I cast in the whirlpool a goblet of gold, 
And o'er it already the dark waters 

flow; 
Wnoever to me may the goblet bring, 
Shall have for his guerdon that gift of 

his king." 

He spoke, and the cup from the terrible 

steep, 
That, rugged and hoary, hung over 

the verge 
Of the endless and measureless world 

of the deep, 
Twirled into the maelstrom that 

maddened the surge. 
"And where is the diver so stout to go — 
I ask ye again — to the deep below?" 

And the knights and the squires that 

gathered around, 
Stood silent — and fixed on the ocean 

their eyes; 
They looked on the dismal and savage 

Profound, 
And the peril chilled back every 

thought of the prize. 
And thrice spoke the monarch — "The 

cnp to win, 
Is there never a wight who will venture 

in?" 



164 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



And all, as before, heard in silence the 

king, 
Till a youth with au aspect unfearing 

but gentle, 
'Mid the tremulous squires — stepped 

out from the ring, 
Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing 

his mantle; 
And the murmuring crowd, as they 

parted asunder, 
On the stately boy cast their looks of 

wonder. 

As he strode to the marge of the sum- 
mit, and gave 
One glance on the gulf of that 
merciless main, 

Lo! the wave that forever devours the 
wave, 
Casts roaringly up the Ch'arybdis 
again; 

And, as with the swell of the far 
thunder-boom, 

Rushes foamingly forth from the heart 
of the gloom. 

And it bubbles and seethes, and it 

hisses and roars, 
As when fire is with water commixed 

and contending, 
And the spray of its wrath to the 

welkin np-soars, 
And flood upon flood hurries on, 

never ending; 
And it never will rest, nor from travail 

be free, 
Like a sea that is laboring the birth of 

a sea. 



mighty commotion, 
And dark through the ^hitness, and 

still through the swell, 
The whirlpool cleaves downward and 

downward in ocean, 
A yawning abyss, like the pathway 

to hell; 
The stiller and darker the farther it 

goes, 
Sucked into that smoothness the 

breakers repose. 



The youth gave his trust to his Maker! 

Before 
That path through the riven abyss 

closed again, 
Hark! a shriek from the gazers that 

circle the shore, — 
And behold! he is whirled in the 

grasp of the main! 
And o'er him the breakers mysteriously 

rolled, 
And the giant mouth closed on the 

swimmer so bold. 

All was still on the bight, save the 

murmur that went 
From the grave of the deep, sounding 

hollow and fell. 
Or save when the tremulous sighing 

lament 
Thrilled from lip unto lip, — "Gallant 

youth, fare thee well !" 
More hollow and more wails the deep 

on the ear — 
More dread and more dread grows 

suspense in its fear. 

If thou shouldst in those waters thy 
diadem fling, 
And cry, — "Who may find it, shall 
win it and wear; 
God wot, though the prize were the 
crown of a king — 
A crown, at such hazard, were valued 
too dear. 
For never shall lips of the living reveal 
What the deeps that howl yonder in 
terror conceal. 
Oh, many a bark, to that breast 
grappled fast, 
Has gone down to the fearfrl and 
fathomless grave; 
Again, crashed togethe" the keel and 
the mast, 
To be seen tossed aloft in the glee of 
the wave! 
Like the growth of a storm, ever louder 

and clearer. 
Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer 
and nearer. 

And it bubbles and seethes and it 
hisses and roars, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



165 



As when lire is with water commixed 
and contending; 

And the spray of its wrath to the 
welkin np-soars, 
And Hood upon Hood hurries on, 
never ending, 

And as with the swell of the far 
thunder-boom, 

Rushes roaringly forth from the heart 
of the gloom. 

And lo! from the heart of th#t far-float- 
ing gloom, 
Like the wing of the cygnet — what 
gleams on the sea? 

Lo! an arm and a neck glancing up 
from the tomb! 
Steering stalwart and shoreward. O 
joy it is he! 

The left hand is lifted in triumph; be- 
hold, 

It waves as a trophy the goblet of gold! 

And he breathed deep, and he breathed 
long, 
And he greeted the heavenly delight 
of the day 

They gaze on each other — they shout as 
they throng — 
"He lives — lo, the ocean has render- 
ed its prey! 

And safe from the whirlpool and free 
from the grave, 

Comes back to the daylight the soul of 
the brave!" 

And he comes, with the crowd in their 

clamor and glee; 
And the goblet his daring had won 

from the water, 
He lifts to the king as he sinks on his 

knee — 
. And the king from her maidens has 

beckoned his daughter. 
She pours to the boy the bright wine 

which they bring, 
And thus spoke the Diver— "Long life 

to the King! 

"Happy they whom the rose-hues of 
daylight rejoice, 
The air and the sky that to mortals 
are given! 



May the horror below never more find 

a voice — 
Nor man stretch too far 'the wide 

mercy of Heaven! 
Nevermore, nevermore may he lift 

from the sight 
The vail which is woven with terror 

and night! 

"Quick brightening like lightning, the 
ocean rushed o'er me, 
Wild floating, borne down fathoms 
deep from the day; 
Till a torrent rushed out on the tor- 
rent that bore me, 
And doubled the tempest that whirl- 
ed me away. 
Vain, vain was my struggle — the circle 

had won me; 
Round and round in its dance the wild 
1 elements spun me. 

"From the deep, then I called upon 
God, and He heard me, 
In the dread of my need, He vouch- 
safed to mine eye 

A rock juttiug out from the grave that 
interred me; 
I sprung there, I clung there, and 
death passed me by, 

And, lo! where the goblet gleamed 
through the abyss, 

By a coral reef saved from the farFath- 
omless. 

"Below, at the foot of that precipice 
drear, 
Spread the gloomy, and purple, and 
pathless Obscure! 
A silence of horror that slept on the 
ear, 
That the eye more appalled might 
the horror endure! 
Salamander, snake, dragon — vast rep- 
tiles that dwell 
In the deep — coiled about the grim 
jaws of their hell. 
"Dark crawled, glided dark the un- 
speakable swarms, 
Clumped together in masses, mis- 
shapen and vast; 



1 66 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Here clung and here bristled the fash- 

ionless forms; 
Here the dark moving hulk of the 

hammer-tish passed; 
And, with teeth grinning white, and a 

menacing motion, 
Went the terrible shark — the hyena of 

ocean. 

"There I hung, and the awe gathered 
icily o'er me. 
So far from the earth, where man's 
help there was none! 
The one human thing, with the goblin s 
before me — 
Alone — in a loneness so ghastly — 

ALONE ! 

Deep under the reach of the sweet 
living breath, 

And begirt with the broods of the des- 
ert of death. 

"Methought, as I gazed through the 
darkness, that now 
I saw a dread hundred-limbed creat- 
ure—its prey! — 

And darted, devouring; I sprung from 
the bough 
Of the coral, and swept on the hor- 
rible way; 

And the whirl of the mighty wave seiz- 
ed me once more, 

It seized me to save me, and dash to 
the shore." 

On the youth gazed the monarch, and 
marveled: quoth he, 
"Bold diver, the goblet I promised is 
thine; 

And this ring I will give, a fresh guer- 
don to thee — 
Never jewels more precious shone up 
from the mine — 

If thou'lt bring me fresh tidings, and 
venture again, 

To say what lies hid in the innermost 
main!" 

Then out spake the daughter in tender 
emotion — 
"Ah! father, my father, what more 
can there rest? 



Enough of this sport with the pitiless 

ocean — 
He has served thee as none would, 

thyself hastconfest. 
If nothing can slake thy wild thirst of 

desire, 
Let thy knights put to shame the exploit 

of the squire! 

The king seized the goblet, he swung it 

on high, 
And whirling, it fell in the roar of 

the tide: 
"But bring back that goblet again to 

my eye, 
And I'll hold thee the dearest that 

rides by my side; 
And thine arms shall embrace, as thy 

bride, I decree. 
The maiden whose pity now pleadeth 

for thee.'' 

And heaven, as he listened, spoke out 

from the space, 
And the hope that makes heroes shot 

flame from his eyes 
He gazed on the blush in that beautiful 

face- 
It pales — at the feet of her father she 

lies! 
How priceless the guerdon! a moment — 

a breath — 
And headlong he plunges to life and to 

death! 

They hear the loud surges sweep back 
in their swell, 
Their coming the thunder-sound her- 
alds along! 

Fond eyes yet are tracking -the spot 
where he fell, 
They come, the wild waters, in tum- 
ult and throng 

Roaring up to the cliff — roaring back as 
before, 

But no wave ever brings the lost youth 
to the shore! 



A Legend of Bregenz. 
Girt round with rugged mountains 

The fair Lake Constance lies; 
In her blue heart reflected 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



67 



Shine back the starry skies; 
And, watching each white cloudlet 

Float silently and slow, 
You think a piece of Heaven 

Lies on our earth below! 

Midnight is there: and Silence, 

Enthroned in Heaven, looks down 
Upon her own calm mirror, 

Upon a sleeping town: 
For Bregenz, that quaint city 

Upon the Tyrol shore, 
Has stood above Lake Constance 

A thousand years and more. 

Her battlements and towers, 

From off their rocky steep, 
Have cast their trembling shadow 

For ages on the deep: 
Mountain, and lake, and valley, 

A sacred legend know, 
Df how the town was saved, one night, 

Three hundred years ago. 

^Far from her home and kindred, 

A Tyrol maid had tied, 
Y To serve in the Swiss valleys, 

And toil for daily bread ; 
And every year that fleeted 

So silently and fast, 
Seemed to bear farther from her 

The memory of the Past. 

She served kind, gentle masters, 

Nor asked for rest or change; 
Her friends seemed no more new ones, 

Their speech seemed no more strange; 
And when she led her cattle 

To the pasture every day, 
She ceased to look and wonder 

On which side Bregenz la}^. 

She spoke no more of Bregenz, 

With longing and with tears; 
Her Tyrol home seemed faded 

In a deep mist of years; 
She heeded not the rumors 

Of Austrian war and strife; 
Each day she rose contented, 

To the calm toils of life. 

Yet, when her master's children 

Would clustering round her stand, 
She sang them ancient ballads 



Of her own native land; 
And when at morn and evening 

She knelt before God's throne, 
The accents of her childhood 

Rose to her lips alone. 

And so she dwelt: the valley 

More peac ful year by year; 
When suddenly strange portents 

Of some great deed seemed near. 
The golden corn was bending 

Upon its fragile stalk, 
While farmers, heedless of their fields, 

Paced up and down in talk. 

The men seemed stern and altered, — 

With looks cast on the ground; 
With anxious faces, one by one, 

The women gathered round; 
All talk of flax, or spinning, 

Or work, was put away; 
The very children seemed afraid 

To go alone to play 

One day, out in the meadow 

With strangers from the town, 
Some secret plan discussing, 

The men walked up and down. 
Yet now and then seemed watching 

A strange uncertain gleam, 
That looked like lances 'mid the trees 

That stood below the stream. 

At eve they all assembled, 

Then care and doubt were fled; 
With jovial laugh they feasted; 

The board was nobly spread. 
The elder of the village 

Rose up, his glass in hand, 
And cried, "We drink the downfall 

Of an accursed land! 

"The night is growing darker, 

Ere one more day is flown, 
Bregenz, our foemens' stronghold, 

Bregenz shall be our own! ' 
The women shrank in terror 

(Yet Pride, too, had her part), 
But one poor Tyrol maiden 

Felt death within her heart 

Before her stood fair Bregenz; 
Once more her towers arose; 
What were the friends beside her? 



i6S 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Only her country's foes! 
The faces of her kinsfolk, 

The days of childhood flown, 
The echoes of her mountains, 

Reclaimed her as their own. 

Nothing she heard around her 

(Though shouts rang forth again), 
Gone were the green Swiss valleys, 

The pasture, and the plain; 
Before her e3~es one vision, 

And in her heart one cry, 
That said, 'Go forth, saveBregeuz, 

And then, if need be, die!" 

With trembling haste and breathless, 

With noiseless step, she sped; 
Horses and weary cattle 

Were standing in the shed; 
She loosed the strong, white charger, 

That fed from out her hand, 
She mounted, and she turned his head 

Toward her native land. 

Out — out into the darkness- 
Faster, and still more fast; 

The smooth grass flies behind her, 
The chestnut wood is past; 

She looks up; clouds are heavy; 
Why is her steed so slow? — 

Scarcely the wind beside them 
Can pass them as they go. 

"Faster!" she cries, "O faster!" 

Eleven the church-bells chime: 
"O God," she cries, " help Bregenz, 

And bring me there in time!" 
But louder than the bell's ringing, 

Or lowing of the kine. 
Grows nearer in the midnight 

The rushing of the Rhine. 

Shall not the roaring waters 

Their headlong gallop check? 
The steed draws back in terror, — 

She leans upon his neck 
To watch the flowing darkness; 

The bank is high and steep; 
One pause — he staggers forward, 

And plunges in the deep 

She strives to pierce the blackness, 

And looser throws therein; 
Her steed must breast the waters 



That dash above his mane. 
Haw gallantly, how nobly, 

He struggles through the foam, 
And see — in the far distance 

Shine out the lights of home! 

Up the steep bank he bears her, 

And now, they rush again 
Towards the heights of Bregenz, 

That Tower above the plain. 
They reach the gate of Bregenz 

Just as the midnight rings, 
And out come serf and soldier 

To meet the news she brings. 

Bregenz is saved! Ere da3 T 13ght 

Her battlements are manned; 
Defiance greets the army 

That marches on the land. 
And if to deeds heroic 

Should endless fame be paid, 
Bregenz does well to honor 

The noble Tyrol maid. 

Three hundred years are vanished, 

And yet upon the hill 
An old stone gateway rises, 

To do her honor still. 
And there; when Bregenz women 

Sit spinning in the shade, 
They see in quaint old carving 

The Charger and the Maid. 

And when, to guard old Bregenz, 

By gateway, street and tower; 
The warder paces all night long 

And calls each passing hour; 
"Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud 

And then (O crown of Fame!) 
When midnight pauses in the skies, 

He calls the maiden's name! 

Adelaide Procter. 



Absalom. 
N. P. Willis. 
The waters slept. Night's silvery veil 
hung low on Jordan's, bosom, and the 
eddies curled their glassy rings beneath 
it, like the still, unbroken beating of the 
sleeper's pulse. The reeds bent down 
the stream : the willow leaves, with a 
soft cheek upon the lulling tide, forgot 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



169 



the Lifting winds; and the long stems, 
whose flowers the water, like a gentle 
nurse, bears on its bosom, quietly gave 
way, and leaned in graceful attitudes, to 
rest. How strikingly the course of nat- 
ure tells, by its light heed of human 
suffering, that it was fashioned for a 
happier world ! King David's limbs 
were weary. He had fled from far Jeru- 
salem ; and now he stood, with his faint 
people for a little rest upon the shore of 
Jordan. The light wind of morn was 
stirring, and he bared his brow to its re- 
freshing breath ; for he had worn the 
mourner's covering, and he had not 
felt that he could see his people until 
now. They gathered round him on the 
fresh green bank, and spoke their kindly 
words ; and, as the sun rose up in heav- 
en, he knelt among them there, and 
bowed his head upon his hands to pray. 
Oh ! ;vhen the heart is full — when bitter 
thoughts come crowding thickly up for 
utterance, and the poor common words 
of courtesy are such a very mockery — 
how much the bursting heart may pour 
itself in prayer ! He prayed for Israel ; 
and his voice went up strongly and fer- 
vently. He prayed for those whose love 
had been his shield ; and his deep tones 
grew tremulous. But, oh ! for Absalom 
— for his estranged, misguided Absalom 
— the proud bright being, who had 
burst away in all his princely beauty, to 
defy the heart that cherished him — for 
him he poured, in agony that w ould not 
be controlled, strong supplication, and 
forgave him there, before his God, for 
his deep sinfulness. 

The pall was settled. He who slept 
beneath was straightened for the grave ; 
and, as the folds sunk to the still pro- 
portions, they betrayed the matchless 
symmetry of Absalom. His hair was 
yet unshorn, and silken curls were float- 
ing round the tassels as they swayed to 
the admitted air, as glossy now as when, 
in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing the 
snowy fingers of Judea's girls. His 
helm was at his feet : his banner, soiled 



with trailing through Jerusalem, was 
laid, reversed, beside him : and the jew- 
elled hilt, whose diamonds lit the pass- 
age of his blade, rested, like mockery, 
on his covered brow. The soldiers <»f 
the King trod to and fro, clad in the 
garb of battle ; and their chief, the 
mighty Joab. stood beside the bier, and 
gazed upon the dark pall steadfastl} T , as 
if he feared the slumberer might stir. A 
slow step startled him. He grasped his 
blade as if a trumpet rang ; but the bent 
form of David entered, and he gave com- 
mand, in alow tone, to his few followers, 
and left him with his dead. The king 
stood still till the last echo died ; then, 
throwing off the sackcloth from his brow, 
and laying back the pall from the still 
features of his child, he bow r ed his head 
upon him, and broke forth in the resist- 
less eloquence of wo : — 

"Alas! my noble boy ! that thou should' st 
die! 
Thou, who wert made so beautifully 
fair ! 
That death should settle in thy glorious 
eye, 
And leave his stillness in this cluster- 
ing hair ! 
How could he mark thee for the silent 
tomb, 
My proud boy Absalom ! 

"Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am 
chill, 
And to my bosom I have tried to press 
thee. 
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, 
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to 
caress thee, 
And hear thy sw r eet "my father" from 
these dumb 
And cold lips, Alsalom ! 

"The grave hath won thee. I shall "heaT 
the gush 
Of music, and the voices of the young 
And life will pass me in the mantling 
blush, 
And the dark tresses of the soft winds 
flung ; — 



70 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



But thou no more, with thy sweet voice 
shalt come 
To meet me, Absalom ! 

And, oh ! when I am stricken, and my 

heart, 
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be 
broken, 
How will its love for thee, as I depart, 
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last 
deep token ! 
It were»so sweet, amid death's gathering 
gloom, 
To see thee, Absalom ! 

"And now, farewell ! 'Tis hard to give 
thee up, 
With death so like a gentle slumberon 
thee : — 
And thy dark sin !— Oh ! I could drink 
the cup, 
If from this wo its bitterness had won 
thee. 
May God have called thee, like a wand- 
erer, home, 
My erring Absalom !" 

He covered up his face and bowed him- 
self 
A moment on his child ; then, giving 
him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hands convulsively, as if in pray- 
er ; 
And, as a strength were given him of 
God, 
He rose up calmly and composed the 
pall 
Firmly and decently, and left him there, 
As if his rest had been a breathing 
sleep. 



Marco Bozzaris- 
F. G. Halleck. 
At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance 
bent, 
Should tremble at his power; 
In dreams, through camp and court, he 

bore 
The trophies of a conqueror; 



In dreams, his song of triumph heard; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne, — 

a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

An hour passed on — the Turk awoke; 

That bright dream was his last; 
He woke— to hear his sentry's shriek, 
"To arms! they come: the Greek! the 

Greek!" 
He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke, 
And death-shots falling thick and 
fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band; — 
"Strike — till the last armed foe expires, 
Strike — for your altars and your tires, 
Strike—for the green graves of your 
sires, 
God— and your native land!" 
They fought, like brave men, long and 
well, 
They piled that ground with Moslem 
slain, 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hur- 
rah, 
And the red field was won; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 
Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, Death! 

Come to the mother, when she feels, 
For the first time, her first-born's 
breath; — 
Come when the blessed seals 
Which close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke; — 
Come in Consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; 
Come when the heart beats high and 
warm, 
With banquet-song, and dance, and 
wine, — 
And thou art terrible: the tear, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



7i 



'The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 
Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 
Has won the battle for the free, 

"Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 

And in its hollow tones are heard 
The thanks of millions yet to be. 

Bozzaris! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 

Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 
Even in her own proud clime, 
We tell thy doom without sigh; 

For thou art Freedom's now, and 
Fame's — 

'One of the few, the immortal names, 
That were not born to die. 



The Inchcape Rock. 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, 
The ship was still as she could be; 
Her sails from heaven received no mo- 
tion, 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without even sign or sound of their 

shock, 
The- waves flowed over the Inchcape 

Rock> 
So little they rose, so little they fell, 
They did not move the Inchcape Bell. 

The Abbot of Aberbrothock 

Had placed that bell on the Inchcape 

Rock; 
On a buoy in the storm it floated and 

swung, 
And over the waves its warning rung. 

When the rock was hid by the surge's 

swell 
The m triners heard the warning bell; 
And then they knew the perilous rock, 
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothock. 

The sun in heaven was shining gay; 
All things were joyful on that day; 
The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled 

round, 
And there was joyance in their sound. 



The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen; 
A darker speck on the ocean green; 
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 
And he lixed his eye on the darker 
sneck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring; 
It made him whistle, it made him sing; 
His heart was mirthful to excess, 
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness, 

His eye was on the Inchcape float; 
Quoth he, "My men, put out the boat, 
And row me to the Inchcape Rock, 
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrot- 
hock." 

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, 
And to the Inchcape Rock they go; 
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape 
float. 

Down sunk the bell with a gurgling 
sound; 

The bubbles rose and burst around; 

Quoth Sir Ralph, "The next who comes 
to the rock, 

Won't bless the Abbot ,of Aberbro- 
thock." 

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; 
He scoured the seas for many a day, 
And now grown rich with plundered 

store, 
He steers his course for Scotland's 

shore. 

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky, 
They cannot see the sun on high; 
The wind hath blown a gale all day; 
At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the Rover takes his stand; 

So dark it is they see no land. 

Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter 

soon, 
For there is the dawn of the rising 

moon." 

"Canst hear," said one, "the breaker's 

roar? 
For methinks we should be near the 

shore," 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



•Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape 
Bell." 

They hear no sound ;the swell is strong; 
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift 

along 
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering 

shock, — 
4, Oh God! it is the Inchcape Rock!" 

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; 
He cursed himself in his despair; 
The waves rush in on every side; 
The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 

But even in his dying fear, 

One dreadful sound could the Rover 

hear, — 
A sound, as if, with the Inchcape Bell, 
The fiend below was ringing his knell. 

ROBERT SOUTHEY. 

Horatius. 

A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE 
CITY CCCLX. 

Lars Porsena of Clusium 

By the Nine Gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the Nine Gods he swore it, 

And named a try sting day, 
And bade his messengers ride forth, 
East and west and south and north, 

To summon his array. 

East and west and south and north 

The messengers ride fast, 
And tower and town and cottage 

Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
Shame on the false Etruscan 

Who lingers in his home 
When Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome. 

But by the yellow Tiber 

Was tumult and affright; 
From all the spacious champaign 

To Rome men took their night. 
A mile around the city, 

The throng stopped up the ways; 
A fearful sight it was to see 

Through two long nights and days. 



Now from the rock Tarpean, 

Could the wan burghers spy 
The line of blazing villages 

Red in the midnight sky. 
The Fathers of the City, 

They sat all night and day, 
For every hour some horseman camt> 

With tidings of dismay. 

They held a council standing 

Before the River-gate ; 
Short time was there, ye well may guess^ 

For musing or debate. 
Out spake the Consul roundly ; 

" The bridge must straight go dowfi ^ 
For, since Jauiculum is iost, 

Naught else can save the town." 

Just then a scout came flying, 

All wild with haste and fear ; 
"To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul ; 

Lars Porsena is here." 
On the low hills to westward 

The Consul fixed his eye, 
And saw the swarthy storm of diist,. 

Rise fast along the sky. 

Fast by the royal standard, 

O'erlooking all the war, 
Lars Porsena of Clausiam 

Sat in his ivory car. 
By the right wheel rode Mamilius y , 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
And by the left false Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame.. 

But when tne face of Sextns 

Was seen among the foes, 
A yell that rent the firmament 

From all the town arose. 
On the house-tops was no woman 

But spat toward him and hissed - 
No child but screamed out curses. 

And shook its little fist. 

But the Consul's brow was sad, 

And the Consul's speech was low„ 
And darkly looked he at the wall. 

And darkly at the foe. 
11 Their van will be upon us 

Before the bridge goes down ; 
And if they once may win the bridge 

What hope to save the town 9 .'" 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



173 



Then out spake brave Horatius, 

The Captaia of the gate : 
* K To every man upon (his earth 

Death coineth soon or late. 
Aud how can 111 in die better 

Theu facing fearful odds, 
For the ashes of his fathers 

And the temples of his Gods, 

■*• Aud for the tender mother 

Who dandled him to rest, 
And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast, 
And for the holy maidens 

Who feed the eternal flame, 
To save them from false Saxtus 

That wrought the tleed of shame ? 

*" Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more 10 help me, 

Will hold the foe in play. 
In yon strait path a thousaud 

May well be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge with me ?" 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 

A Ramnian proud was he : 
^'Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 

Aud keep the bridge with thee." 
And out spake strong Herminius; 

Of Titian blood was lie: 
"M will abide on thy left side, 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

"'"Horatius," quoth the Consul, 

"As thou sayest, so let it be." 
And straight against that great array 

Forth went the dauutless Three. 
For Romans in Rome's quarrel 

Spared neither land nor gold, 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 

la the brave days of old. 

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 

Right glorious to behold, 
CJame flashing back the noonday light, 
liauk behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 
Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike gle< j , 
As that great host, with measured tread, 



And spears advanced, and ensigns 

spread, 
Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head, 
Where stood the dauntless Three. 

The Three stood calm and silent 

And looked upon the foes, 
Aud a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose. 
And forth three chiefs came spurring 

Before that deep array; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they 

drew, 
And lifted high their shields, and flew 

To win the narrow way, 

Herminius smote down Aruns: 

Lartius laid Ocnus low: 
Right to the heart of Lausulus 

Horatius sent a blow. 
"Lie there," he cried, ''fell pirate! 

No more, agast and pale, 
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall 

mark 
The track of thy destroying bark. 
No moie Campauia's hinds shall fly 
To woods and caverns when they spy 

Thy thrice accursed sail." 
But now no sound of laughter 

Was heard among the foes. 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears' length from the entrance 

Halted that deep arrry, 
And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way. 

Yet one man for one moment 

Strode out before the crowd; 
Well known was he to all the Three, 

And they gave him greeting lo.d. 
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus, 

Now welcome to thy home! 
Why dost thou stay, aud turn away? 

Here lies the road to Rome." 

But meanwhile axe and lever 

Have manfully been plied, 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
"Come back, come back. Horatius!" 

Loud cried the Fathers all. 



1/4 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



•Buck, Lartiu*! back Herminius! 
Back, ere the ruin fall!" 

Back darted Spurius Lartius; 

Herminius darted back: 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But when they turned their faces, 

And ou the farther shore 
Saw bry ve Horatius stand alone, 

They would have crossed once more. 
But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam, 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream: 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 

Alone stood brave Horatius, 

But constant still in mind; 
Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 

And the broad flood behind. 
"Down with him!" cried false Sextus, 

With a smile on his pale face. 
"Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 

"Now yield thee to our grace." 

Round turned he, a& not deigning 

Those craven ranks to see; 
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, 

To Sextus naught spake he: 
But he saw on Palatinus 

The white porch of his home; 
And he spake to the noble river 

That rolls by the towers of Rome. 

"Oh, Tiber! Father Tiber! 

To whom the Romans pray, 
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 

Take thou in charge this day!" 
So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed 

The good sword by his side, 
And with his harness on his back, 

Plunged headlong in the tide. 

No sound of joy or sorrow 
Was heard from either bank; 

But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 

With parted lips and straining eyes, 
Stood gazing where he sank; 

And when above the surges 



They saw his crest appear, 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 

And even the ranks of Tuscany 
Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus: 

"Will not the villian drown? 
But for this stay, ere close of day 

We should have sacked the town." 
"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena^ 

"And bring him safe to shore; 
For such a gallant feat of arms 

Was never seen before." 

And now he feels the bottom; 

Now on dry earth he stands; 
Now round- him throng the Fathers 

To press his gory hands; 
And now, with shouts and clapping,., 

Aud noise of weeping loud, 
He enters through the River-Gate, 

Borne by the joyous crowd. 

They gave him of the corn-land 

That was of public right 
As much as two strong oxen 

Could plough from morn till nighty 
Ane they made a molten image, 

And set it up on high, 
And there it stands unto this day 

To witness if I lie.' 

It stands in the Comitium, 

Plain for all folk to see; 
Horatius in his harness, 

Halting upon one knee: 
And underneath is written, 

In letters all of gold, 
How valiantly he kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

And in the nights of winter, 

When the cold north winds blow. 
And the long howling of the wolve& 

Is heard amidst the snow ; 
When round the lonely cottage 

Roars loud the tempest's din, 
And the good logs of Algidus 

Roar louder yet within ; 

When the oldest cask is opened, 

And the largest lamp is lit j 
When the chestnuts glow in the embers*.. 

And the kid turns on the spit ; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



75 



When young and old in circle 
Around the firebrands close ; 

When the girls are weaving baskets, 
And the lads are shaping bows ; 

When the good man mends his armor, 

And trims his helmet's plume ; 
When the good wife's shuttle merrily 

Goes Hashing through the loom ; 
With weeping and with laughter 

Still is the story told. 
How well Horatius kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

MACAU LAY. 

The Battle of Bunker Hill. 

COZZENS. 

It was a starry night in June, the air 

was soft and still, 
When the "Minute-men" from Cam- 
bridge came, and gathered on the 

hill; 
Beneath us lay the sleeping town, 

around us frowned the fleet, 
But the pulse of freemen, not of slaves, 

within our bosoms beat; 
Bnd every heart rose high with hope, 

as fearlessly we said, 
"We will be numbered with the free, 

or numbered with the dead!" 

"Bring out the line to mark the trench, 

and stretch it on the swardl" 
The trench is marked, the tools are 

brought, we utter not a word, 
But stack our guns, then fall to work, 

with mattock aud with spade, 
A thousand men with sinewy arms, and 

not a sound is made; 
So still were we, the stars beneath, that 

scarce a whisper fell; 
We heard the red-coat's musket click, 

and heard him cry, "All's well!" 
******* 
See how the morn is breaking! The red 

is in. the sky; 
The mist is creeping from the stream, 

that floats in silence lry; 
TheJJvely's hull looms through the fog, 

and they our works have spied; 



For the ruddy Hash and round-shot 

part in thunder from her side; 
And the Falcon and the Cerberus make 

every busom thrill, 
With gun and shell, and drum and bell, 

and boatswain's whistle shrill; 
But deep and wider grows the trench, 

as spade and mattock ply, 
For we have to cope with fearful odds, 

and the time is drawing nigh! 

Up with the pine-tree banner! Our 

gallaut Prescott stands 
Amid the plunging shells and shot, and 

plants it with his hands; 
Up with the shout for Putnam comes 

upon his reeking bay, 
With bloody spur and foa ning bit, in 

haste to join the fray; 
And Pomeroy, with his snow-whit*' 

hair and face all flush aud sweat, 
Unscathed by French and Indian, wears 

a youthful glory yet. 

But thou whose soul is glowing in the 

summer of thy years, 
Unvanquishable Warren, thou, the 

youngest of thy peers, 
Wert born and bred, and shaped and 

made, to act a patriot's part, 
And clear to us thy presence is as 

heart's blood to the heart! 
******* 
Hark! from the town a trumpet! The 

barges at the wharf 
Are crowded with the living freight, 

and now they're pushing off: 
W T ith clash and glitter, trump and 

drum, in all its bright array, 
Behold the splendid sacrifice move 

slowly o'er the bay! 
And still and still the barges fill; and 

still across the deep, 
Like thunder-clouds along the sky, the 

hostile transports sweep. 

And now they're forming at the Point; 

and now the lines advance: 
We see beneath the sultry sun their 

polished bayonets glance; 
We hear a-nearthe throbbing drum, the 

bugle-challenge ring; 



176 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Quick bursts and loud the flashing 

cloud, and rolls from wing to 

wing; 
But on the height our bulwark stands, 

tremendous in its gloom, — 
As sullen as a tropic sky, and silent as 

a tomb. 

And so we waited till we saw, at scarce 

ten rifles' length, 
The old vindictive Saxon spite in all its 

stubborn strength; 
When sudden, flash on flash, around 

the jagged rampart burst 
From every gun the livid light upon 

the foe accursed. 
Then quailed a monarch's might before 

a free-born people's ire; 
Then drank the sword the veteran's 

life, when swept the yoeman's 

tire. 

Then, staggered by the shot, we saw 
their serried columns reel, 

And fall, as falls the bearded rye be- 
neath the reaper's steei; 

And then arose a mighty shout that 
might have waked the dead — 

"Hurrah! they run! the field is won! 
Hurrah! the foe is fled!" 

And every man hath dropped his gun 
to clutch his neighbor's hand, 

As his heart kept praying all the time 
for home and native land. 

Thrice on that day we stood the shock 

of thrice a thousand foes, 
And thrice that day within our lines 

the shout of victory rose; 
And though our swift tire slackened 

then, and, reddened in the skies, 
We saw from Charlestown's roofs and 

walls the flaming columns rise, 
Yet, while we had a cartridge left, we 

still maintained the tight, 
Nor gained the foe one foot of ground 

upon that blood-stained height. 

What though for us no laurels bloom, 
nor o'er the nameless brave 

No sculptured trophy, scroll, nor hatch 
records a warrior's grave! 



What though the day to us was lost! 

Upon that deathless page, 
The everlasting charter stands for 

every land and age! 
For man hath broke his felon bonds 

and cast them in the dust, 
And claimed his heritage divine, and 

justified the trust; 
While through his rifted prison bars 

the hues of freedom pour, 
O'er every nation, race, and clime; on 

every sea and shoae, 
Such glories as the patriarch viewed, 

when, 'mid the darkest skies, 
He saw above a ruined world the Bow 

of Promise lise. 



Death of Leonidas. 

CROLY. 

It was the wild midnight,— a storm was 

in the sky; 
The lightning gave its light, and the 

thunder echoed by; 
The torrent swept the glen, the ocean 

lashed the shore; 
When rose the Spartan men, to make 

their bed in gore! 

Swift from the deluged ground three 

hundred took the shield; 
Then, in silence, gathered round the 

leader of the field. 
All up the mountain's side, all down 

the woody vale, 
All by the rolling tide waved the 

Persian banners pale. 

And foremost from the pass, among 
the slumbering band, 

Sprang King Leonidas, like the light- 
ning's living brand. 

Then double darkness fell, and the 
forest ceased its moan; 

But there came a clash of steel, and a 
distant dying groan. 

Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery 
sheet burst high. 

That o'er the midnight threw a blood- 
red cauopy. 

A host glared on the hill; a host glared 
by the bay; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



177 



Hut the Greeks rushed onward still, 
like leopards in their play. 

The air was all a yell, and the earth 

was all a flame, 
Where the Spartan's bloody steel on 

the silken turbans came. 
And still the Greek rushed on, where 

the fiery torrent rolled, 
Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' 

tent of gold. 

They found a royal feast, his midnight 

banquet there; 
And the treasures of the East lay 

beneath the Doric spear. 
Then sat to the repast the bravest of 

the brave; 
That feast must be their last— that spot 

must be their grave! 

Up rose the glorious rank, to Greece 

one cup poured high, 
Then hand in hand they drank, "To 

immortality!" 
Fear on King Xerxes fell, when, like 

spirits from the tomb, 
With shout and trumpet knell, he saw 

the warriors come. 
But ddwn swept all his power, with 

chariot and with charge; 
Down poured the arrows' shower, till 

sank the Dorian targe. 
Thus fought the Greek of old! Thus 

will he fight again! 
Shall not the self same mould bring 

forth the self -same men? 



For so the king had planned the matter, 
That he might reach his purpose better. 

"Which way, good man ?" the monarch 



*The King and the Rustic, or One or the Other. 

OLDHAM'S HUMOROUS SPEAK ER. 

In Henry's reign— the darling king, 
Whose praises .-till the Frenchmen 

sing— 
A peasant once, with idle song, 
Was riding happily along 
Toward Paris ; and, when near that 

place, 
A stately horseman met his face. 
It was the king. His retinue 
Was at a distance out of view ; 

12 



Does business } r ou to Paris lead ?" 
"It does ; but yet another thing — 
I wish to see our darling king, 
Who loves his people all so dearly, 
And whom they love, and that sincere- 
ly." 
The monarch sm.iled, and blandly 

said : — 
"In that, my friend, I'll give you aid." 
"But how," the rustic asked, "shall I. 
'Mid all the great folks standing by, 
Tell which is he ?" — "I'll tell you how," 
The king replied. You've only now 
To notice who, of all the crowd 
That lowly bow, or shout aloud, 
Keeps on his hat, while others bare 
Their heads and gaze with reverent 
air.'* 

Now had they got in Paris quite : 
The rustic riding on the right. 
W T hatever boorish life can teach, 
Whatever awkwardness can reach, 
In manner, motion, look, or speech, 
That simple lout that day displayed, 
When he in Paris entry made. 

He answered all the monarch asked, 
And all his humble powers tasked, 
To show him how his farm he kept; 
How well he fed, how sweet he slept; 
How every Sunday 'twas his lot 
To have a "pullet in his pot," — 
"Which lot," says he, "is just the thing, 
That all should have, so says our king!" 

Long, long he talked— his tongue ran 

fleet' 
As up they rode the crowded street; 
Nor yet perceived — most strange to 

say— 
From all that met his eye that day, 
What must have seemed the oddest 

thing — 
A rustic riding with the king. 
But when he saw the windows fly 
Open wide, and every eye 
Straining at the -passers-by 



1 7 8 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



While all the air was made to ring 
With "Vive le Hoi!"—' 'Long live the 
King!" 

"Friend," said he to his unknown 
guide, 

While with wonder and fright the mon- 
arch he eyed, 

''Sure, you must be the king, or I! 

For nobody else, in all this crowd, 

Has a hat on his head, whether humble 
01; proud." 

The good king smiled. "You're right," 
said he, 

'I'm the person yon wished to see!" 



Guilty or Not Guilty. 
Anonymous. 
She stood at the bar of justice, 

A creature wan and wild, 
In form too small for a woman, 

In features too old for a child; 
For a look so worn and pathetic 

Was stamped on her pale young face, 
It seemed long years of suffering 

Must have left that silent trace. 

"Your name," said the judge, as he 
eyed her 
With kindly look yet keen, 
"Is Mary#lcGuire, if you please sir." 
"And your age?" — "lam turned fif- 
teen/' 
"Well, Mar}*," and then from a paper 

He slowly and gravely read, 
"You are charged here — I'm sorry to 
say it — 
With stealing three loaves of bread. 

"You look not like an offender, 

And I hope that you can show 
The charge to be false. Now, tell me, 

Are you guilty of this, or no?" 
A passionate burst of weeping 

Was at first her sole reply, 
But she dried her eyes in a moment, • 

And looked in the judge's eye. 

"I will tell you just how it was, sir, 
My father and mother are dead, 

And my little brothers and sisters 
Were hungry and asked me for bread. 



At first I earned it for them 

By working hard all day, 
But somehow times were bad, sii\ 

And the work all fell away. 

"I could get no more employment 

The weather was bitter cold, 
The young ones cried and shivered— 

(Little Johnny's but four years old);-— 
So what was I to do, sir? 

I am guilty, but do not condemn, 
I took— oh, was it stealing*? — 

The bread to give to them." 

Every man in the court-room — 

Gray-beard and thoughtless youth- 
Knew, as he looked upon her, 

That the prisoner spake the truth, 
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs v 

Out from their eyes sprung tears, 
And out from their old faded wallets 

Treasures hoarded for years. 

The judge's face was a study — 

The strangest you ever saw, 
As he cleared his throat and murmnred 

Something about the law 
For one so learned in such matters, 

So wise in dealing with men,- 
He seemed, on a simple question, 

Sorely puzzled just then. 

But no one blamed him or wondered, 

When at last these words they heard 
"The sentence of this young prisoner 

Is, for the present, deferred." 
And no one blamed him or wondered 

When he went to her and smiled, 
And tenderly led from the court-room k 

Himself, the "guilt}*" child. 



The Blind Boy. 
F. L. Hawks. 

It was a blessed summer day, 

The flowers bloom'd — the air w T as 
mild — 
The little birds poured forth their lay, 

And every thing in nature smiled. 
In pleasant thought I wandered on 

Beneath the deep wood's ample shade, 
Till suddenly I came upon 

Two children who had thither stray'd. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



179' 



Juffl at an aged birch tree's foot, 

A little boy and girl reclined; 
His hand in hers he kindly put, 

And then I saw tha't h<> was blind. 
The children knew not I was near, 

The tree concealed nie from their 
view; 
But all they said. I well could hear, 

And I could see all they might do. 

"Dear Mary," said the poor blind boy, 

"That little bird sings very long: 
Say, do you see him in his joy, 

Aud is he pretty as his song?" 
"Yes, Edward, yes;" replied the maid, 

"I see the bird on yonder tree." 
The poor boy sigh'd, and gently said: 

"Sister, I wish that I could see. 

"The flowers, you say, are very fair, 
And bright green leaves are on the trees, 
And pretty birds are singing there — 

How beautiful for one who sees! 
"Yet I the fragrant flowers cau smell, 

And I can feel the green leafs shade, 
And I can hear the notes that swell 

From those dear birds that God has 
made. 

"So, sister, God to me is kind, 

Though sight, alas! He has not given; 
But tell me, are there any blind 

Among the children up in heaven?" 
"No; dearest Edward, there all see — 

But why ask me a thing so odd?" 
' 'Oh, Mary, He's so good to me, 

I thought I'd like to look at God!". 

(pi.) Ere long, Disease his hand had 
laid, 

On that dear boy, so meek and mild; 
His widowed mother wept and pray'd 

That God would spare her sightless 
child. 
He felt her warm tears on his face, 

And said: "Oh, never weep for me; 
I'm going to a bright, bright place, 

Where Mary says I God shall see! 

"And you'll be there, dear Mary, too; 

But, mother, when you get up there, 
Tell Edward, mother, that 'tis you, 

You know I never saw you here." 
He spoke no more but sweetly smiled 



Until the final blow was given — 
When GOD took up the poor blind child 
And opened first his eyes in heaven! 



The White Rose of Miama. 
Mrs. E. L. Schermebhorn. 

Let me stay at my home, in the beauti- 
ful west, 

Where 1 played when a child, in my age 
let me rest, 

Where the bright prairies bloom, and 
the wild waters play, 

In the home of my heart, dearest friends 
let me stay. 

O, here let me stay, where my chief, in 

the pride 
Of a brave warrior-youth, wandered 

forth by my side; 
Where he laid at my feet, the young 

hunter's best prey, 
Where I roamed a wild huntress, — O 

fripnds let me stay! 

Let me stay where the prairies I've oft 

wandered through, 
While my moceasius brushed from the 

flowers the dew; 
Where my warrior would pluck the. 

wild blossoms and say, 
His white rose was the fairest, — O, here 

let me stay! 

O, here let me stay! where bright 

plumes from the wing 
Of the bird 'that his arrow had pierced, 

he would bring; 
Where in parting for battle, he softly 

would say: 
'"Tis to shield thee I tight," O, with 

him let me stay! 

Let me stay, though he strength of my 
chieftain is o'er, 

Though his warriors he leads to the bat- 
tle no more; 

He loves through the woods a wild 
hunter to stray, 

His heart clings to home,— O, then here 
let me stay! 

Let me stay where my children in child- 
hood have played, 



i8o 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Where through the green forest they 

often have strayed; 
They never would bend to the white 

man's cold sway. 
For their hearts are of tire, — O, here 

let them stay. 

Yon tell me of leaves of the spirit that 

speak, 
But the Spirit I own, in the bright 

stars I seek; 
In the prairie, in the forest, the water's 

wild play 
I see him, I see him, — O, then let me 

stay, 



Twenty Years Ago. 

I wandered to the village,Tom,I sat be- 
neath the tree, 

Upon the school house playing ground, 
that sheltered you and me: 

But few were there to greet me, Tom, 
but few are left j T ou know, 

That played with us upon the green, 
some twenty years ago. 

The grass is just as green, dear Tom; 
bare-footed boys at play, 

Were sporting just as we did then, with 
spirits just as gay, 

But master sleeps upon the hill, all cov- 
ered o'er with snow, 

Which afforded us a sliding ground, 
some twenty years ago. 

The river, Tom, is running still, the 

willows on its side 
Are larger than they were, Tom — the 

stream appears less wide; 
The grape-vine swing is ruined, Tom, 

where once we played the beau, 
And swung our sweethearts, pretty 

girls, some twenty years ago. 

The spring that bubbled 'neath the 

rocks, close b} r the spreading 

beach, 
Is very low; 'twas once so high that we 

could scarcely reach, 
And kneeling down to get a drink, dear 

Tom, I started so, 



To see how much that I was changed 
siuce twenty years ago. 

Down by the spring, upon an elm, you 

know I cut.yonr name, 
Your sweetheart's just beueath it, Tom, 

and you did mine the same; 
Some heartless wretch has peeled the 

bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, 
Just like the one whose name you cut 

died twenty years ago. 

My lids have long been dry, dear Tom, 

but tears come to my eyes; 
I thought of her I loved so well — those 

early broken ties; 
I visited the old church-yar I. and took 

some flowers to strew, 
Upon the graves of those we loved some 

twenty years ago. 

Some are in the church-yard laid, some 

sleep beneath the sea, 
But few are left of our old class.except- 

ing you and me; 
And when the time shall come, Tom, 

and we are called to go, 
I hope they'll lay us where we played, 

some twenty years ago. 

^ ■ i ^i 

The Battle of Waterloo. 

BYROX. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gathered 
then 
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone over fair women and 
brave men ; 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and 
whan 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spoke 
again ; 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell: 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes 
like a rising knell ! 

Did ye not hear it V— No ; 'twas but the 
wind, 
Orthe car rattliugo'erthe stony street; 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



181 



Oa with the dance ! let* joy be uucon- The mustering squadron, and the clat- 

fined; tering car 

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Went pouring forward with impetuous 

Pleasure meet speed, 

To chase the glowing hours with Hying And swiftly forming in the ranks o! 

feet— war; 

But hark !— that heavy sound breaks And the deep thunder peal on peal 



in once more, 

As if the clouds its echo would repeat-, 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than be- 
fore ! 

Arm ! Arm! it is -it is the cannon's open- 
ing roar ! 

Within a window'd niche of that high 
hall 
Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he 
did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival, 
And caught its tone with Death's pro- 
phetic ear; 
And when they smiled because he deem- 
ed it near, 
His heart more truly knew that peal 
too well 



afar, 
And near, the beat of the alarming 
drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning- 
star ; 
While throng'd the citizens, with 
terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with white lips — "The 
foe ! they come ! they come !" 

And wild and high the "Cameron's Gath- 
ering" rose ! 
The war-notes of Lochiel, which Al- 
byn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her 
Saxon foes ; — 
How in the noon of night that pibroch 
thrills, 

Which stretch'd his father on a bloody Savage and shrill ! But with the breath 
bier, that fills 

And roused the vengeance blood alone Their mountain-pipe, so till the mount- 

could quell: aineers 

He rush'd iuto the field, and foremost With the tierce native daring which in- 
fighting, fell. stills 
Ah ! then and there was burring to and The stilTiD S nteinoij of a thousand 

fro, y ears * 

And gathering tears, and tremblings And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each 

of distress, clansman's ears ! 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour " And Ardennes waves above them her 

ago green leaves, 

Blushed at the praise of their own Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they 

loveliness ; pass, 

And there were sudden partings, such Grieving, if aught inanimate ere grieves, 

as press Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 

The life from out young hearts, and Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 

choking sighs Which now beneath them but above 
Which ne'er might be repeated; who 



could guess 
If ever more should meet those mut- 
ual eyes, 
Since upon night so sweet such awful 
morn could rise ! 

And there was mounting in hot haste; 
the steed, 



shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 

Of living valor, rolling on the foe 
And burning with higjh hope, shall 

moulder cold and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly 

gay, 



82 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The midnight brought the signal sound 
of strife, 
The morn the marshalling in arms. — 
the (.lay 
Battle's magnificently stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, 
which, when rent, 
The earth is cover' d thick with other 
clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd 
and pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one 
red burial blent ! 



Out of the Old House, Nancy. 

WILL M. CARLETON. 

Out of the old house, Nancy — moved 
up into the new; 

All the hurry and worry is just as good 
as through. 

Only a bounden duty remains for you 
and I — 

And that's to stand on the door-step, 
here, and bid the old house good- 
bye. 

What a shell we've lived in, these nine- 
teen or twenty years! 

Wonder it hadn't smashed in and tum- 
bled abcut our ears; 

Wonder it's stuck together, and an- 
swered till to-day; 

But every individual log was put up 
here to sta} T . 

Things looked rather new, though, 

when this old house was built; 
And things that blossomed you 

would' ve made some women wilt; 
And every other day, then, as sure as 

day would break, 
My neighbor "Ages" come this way, in- 

vitin' me to "shake." 

And you, for want of neighbors, was 

sometimes blue and sad, 
For wolves and bears and wild- cats 

was the nearest ones you had: 
But lookin' ahead to the clearin' we 

worked with all our might, 
Until we was fairly out of the woods, 

and things was goin' right. 



Look up there at our new house— ain't 

it a thing to see? 
Tall and big and handsome, and new 

as new can be; 
All is in apple-pie order, especially the 

shelves, 
And never a debt to say but what we 

own it all ourselves. 

Look at our old log house— how little 
it now appears! 

But it's never gone back on us for nine- 
teen or twenty years; 

An' I won't go back on it now, or go to 
poking fun — 

There's such a thing as praisin' a thing 
for the good that it has done. 

Probably you remember how rich we 

was that night, 
When we was fairly settled, an' had 

things snug and tight: 
We feel as proud as you please, Nancy, 

over the house that's new, 
But we felt as proud under this old 

roof, and a good deal prouder, 

too. 

Never a handsomer house was seen be- 
neath the sun: 

Kitchen and parlor and bed-room — we 
had 'em all in one; 

And the fat old wooden clock that we 
bought when we come West, 

Was tickin' away in the corner there, 
and doin' its level best. 

Trees was all around us, a-whisperin' 

cheering words; 
Loud was the squirrel's chatter, and 

sweet the songs of birds; 
And home grew sweeter and brighter — 

our courage began to mount — 
And things looked hearty and happy 

then, and work appeared to 

count. 

And here one night it happened, when 

things was goin' bad, 
We fell in a deep old quarrel— the first 

we ever had; 
And when you give out and cried, then 

I, like a fool give in, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



183 



And then we agreed to rub all out, and 
start the thing ag'in. 

Here it was yon remember, we sat 

when the day was done, 
And yon was a- making clothing that 

wasn't for either one; 
And often a soft word of love I was 

soft enough to say, 
And the wolves were howlin' in the 

woods not twenty rods away. 

Then our first-born baby — a regular 

little joy. 
Though I fretted a little because it 

wasn't a boy: 
Wa'n't she a little flirt, though, with 

all her pouts and smiles V 
\Vhy, settlers come to see that show a 

half a dozen miles. 

Yonder sat the cradle — a homely, home- 
made thing, 

And many a night I rocked it, provid- 
in' you would sing, 

And. many a little squatter brought up 
with us to stay — 

And so that cradle for many a year, 
was never put away. 

How they kept a-comin', so cunnin' and 

fat and small! 
How they grov\ ed! 'twas a wonder how 

we found room for them all; 
But though the house was crowded, it 

empt} 7 seemed that day 
When Jennie lay by the fire-place, 

there, and moaned her life away. 

And right in there the preacher, with 

Bible and hymn-book stood, 
""Twixt the dead and the living," and 

' hoped 'twould do us good;" 
And the little whitewood coffin on the 

table there w r as set, 
And now as I rub my eyes it seems as 

if I could see it yet, 

Then that fit of sickness it brought on 

you, you know, 
Just by a single thread you hung, and 

you e'en-a'most let go; 
And here is the spot 1 tumbled, and 

give the Lord his due, 



When the doctor said the fever'd lurn- 

«mL :t n' he could fetch you through. 

Yes, a deal has happened to make this 
old house dear: 

Christenin's, funerals, weddin'a — what 
haven't we had there? 

Not a log in this buildin' but its mem- 
ories has got. 

And not a nail in this old floor but 
touches a tender spot. 

Out of the old house, Nancy —moved 

up into the new; 
All the hurry and worry is just as good 

as through; 
But I tell you a thing right here, that I 

ain't ashamed to say, 
There's precious things in this old 

house we never can take away. 

Here the old house will stand, but not 

as it stood before: 
Winds will whistle through it, and 

rains will flood the floor; 
And over the hearth, once blazing, the 

snow-drifts oft will pile. 
And the old thing will seem to be a- 

mournin' all the while. 

Fare yon well, old house! you're naught 

that can feel or see, 
But you seem like a human being— a 

dear old friend to me; 
And we'll never have a better home, if 

my opinion stands, 
Until we commence a-keepin' house in 
the house not made with hands. 

^ ■ ■ —^— 

Graves of a Household. 
They grew in beauty side by side, 
They till'd one home with glee; 
Their graves are sever'd far and wide, 

By mount, and stream, and sea. 
The same fond mother bent at night, 

O'er each fair sleeping brow; 
She had each folded flower in sight, 
Where are those dreamers now? 

One midst the forest of the west 

By a dark stream is laid , 
The Indian knows his place of rest, 

Far in the cedar shade. 



1 84 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The sea, the blue, lone sea hath one, 
He lies where pearls lie deep; 

He was the loved of all, yet none 
O'er his bed may weep. 

One sleeps where southern vines are 
dress'd, 

Above the noble slain; 
He wound his colors round his breast, 

On a blood-red field of Spain. 
And one— o'er her the myrtle showers 

Its leaves by soft winds fann'd; 
She faded 'midst Italian flowers, 

The last of that fair band. 

And parted thus, they rest, who play'd 

Beneath the same green tree; 
Whose voices mingled, as they pray'd 

Around one parent knee. 
They that with smiles lit up the hall, 

And cheer'd with song the hearth — 
Alas! for loved, if thou art all, 

And naught beyond, O earth. 



The Will and the Way. 
We have faith in old proverbs full 
surely, 
For Wisdom has traced what they 
tell; 
And truth may be drawn up as purely 

From them as it may from a well. 
Let us question the thinkers and doers, 

And hear what they honestly say, 
And you'll find they believe, like bold 
wooers, 
In "where there's a will there's a 
way." 

Have ye vices that ask a destroyer? 

Or passions that need your control? 
Let Reason become your employer, 

And your body be ruled by your soul. 
Fight on, though ye bleed in the trial, 

Resist with all strength that you may; 
Ye may couquer sins host by denial, 

For "where there's a will there's a 
way." 

Have ye Poverty's pinching "to cope 
with? 
Does Suffering weigh down your 
might? 



Or call up a spirit to hope with, 
And dawn may come out of the night, 

Oh! much may be done by defying 
The ghosts of Despair and Dismay; 

And much may be gained by relying 
On " where there's a will there's a 
way." 

Should 3'ou see afar off that worth win* 
ning. 
Set out on the journey with trust ; 
And ne'er heed if your path at begin- 
ning 
Should be among brambles and dust, 
Though it is but by footsteps ye do it, 
And hardships may hinder and stay, 
Keep a heart, and be sure 3 7 #>u'll get 
through it, 
For "where there's a will there's a. 
way." 



The Golden Side. 

There is many a rest on the road of life, 

If we would only stop to take it ; 
And many a one from the better laud, 

If the querulous heart would wake it. 
To the sunny soul that is full of hope, 

And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, 
The grass is green and the flowers are 
bright, 

Though the wintry storm prevaileth, 

Better to hope, though the cloud's hang- 
low, 
And to keep the heart still lifted ; 
For the sweet blue sky will soon peep 
through, 
When the ominous clouds are rifted. 
There was never a night without a day, 
Nor an evening without a morning, a 
And the darkest hour, the proverb goes, 

Is the hour before the dawning. 
There is many a gem in the path of 
life, 
Which we pass in our idle pleasure, 
That is richer far than the jewellec) 
crown 
Or the miser'sjioarded treasure. 
It may be the love of a little child, 
Or a mother's prayer to heaven, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



185 



Or only a beggar's grateful thanks 
For a cup of water given. 

Better to weave in the web of life 

A bright and golden tilling, 
And to do God's will with a ready heart 

And hands that are swift and willing, 
Than to snap the delicate silver threads 

Of our curious lives asunder; 
And then Heav'n blame for the tangled 
ends, 

And sit and grieve and wonder. 



Deeds Versus Creeds- 
By Annie L. Muzzey. 
And seeking truth, I wholly lost my 
way; 
Rocked back and forward by the 

swinging tides 
Of doubt and faith, confused by many 
guides, 
Each one armed with a doctrine and a 
creed 
Which each felt safe to say 
Would meet and satisfy my every deed. 

And one claimed Jesus was the son of 
God; 
And one denied that he was more 

than man. 
One scented wrath in the redeeming 
plan; 
One dwelt upon its mercy and its love; 

One threatened with the rod; 
One woed me with the cooings of the 
dove. 

And whether souls were foreordained 
to bliss: 
And whether faith, or works, were 

strong to save* 
And whether judgment lay beyond 
the grave, 
And love with pardoning power went 
down to hell; 
Whether that road or this, 
Led up to Heaven's gate I could not 
tell. 

Amid this dust of theologic strife, 
I hungered with want unsatisfied. 



Heaven while I lived, not Heaven 
when I died, 
Was what 1 craved; and how to make 
sublime 
And beautiful my life 
While yet I lingered on the shon 
Time. 

To judgment swift my guides in doe 
trine came: 
Which one lived out the royal truths 

he preached ? 
Which one loved mercy, and ne'er 
over* reached 
His weaker brother? And which one 
forgot 
His own to other's claim. 
And putself last? I sought, but found 
him not. 

And wept and railed because religion 
seemed 
Only the thin ascending smoke of 

words — 
The jangling rude of inharmonious 
chords; 
Until — my false inductions to disprove- 
Across my vision streamed 
The glory of a life aflame with love. 

One who was silent while his brethreh 
taught, 
And showed me not the beauties of 

his creed, 
But went before me, sowing silent 
seed 
That made the waste and barren desert 
glad ; 
Whese hand in secret brought 
Healing and comfort to the sick and 
sad. 

Aglow; I cried, "Here all my question- 
ings end; 
Oh! what is thy religion, thy belief ? w 
Smiling he shook his head with an- 
swer brief — 
This man so swift to act, so slow t© 
speak — 
"In deeds, not creeds, my friend, 
Lives the religion that I humbly seek,** 

And soft and sweet across my spirit 
stole 



i 86 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



The Dest and peace so. long and vain- 
ly sought; 
Ami though I mourn the graces 1 
have not; 
If I may help my brother in his need, 

And love him as my soul, 
I trust God's pardon if I have no creed. 



Scatter thus your seeds of kindness, 

All enriching as you go. 
Leave them. Trust the Harvest Giver 

He will make each step to grow. 
So, until the happy end; 
Your life shall never lack a friend. 



• A Sermon in Rhyme- 

If you have a friend worth loving 
Love him. Yes, and let him know 

That you love him, ere life's evening 
Tinge his brow with sunset glow. 

Why should good words ne'er be said 

Of a friend — till he is dead. 

If you hear a song that thrills you, 

Sung by any child of song, 
Praise it. Do not let the singer 

Wait deserved praises long 
Why should one who thrills your heart 
Lack the joy you uia,y impart? 

If you hear a prayer that moves you 
By its humble, pleading tone, 

Join it. Do not let the seeker 
Bow before his God alone. 

Why should not your brother share 

The strength of "two or three" in 
prayer? 

If you see the hot tears falling 
From a brother's weeping eyes, 

Stop them, and by kindly sharing, 
Own your kinship with the skies. 

Wiry should anyone be glad 

When a brother's heart is sad? 

If a silvery laugh goes rippling 
Through the sunshine on. his face, 

Share it. 'Tis the wise man's saying — 
For both joy and grief a place. 

There's health and goodness in the 
mirth 

In which an honest laugh has birth. 

If your work is made more easy 
By a friendly, helping hand; 

Say so. Speak out brave and truly 
Ere the darkness veils the land. 

Should a brother workman dear 

Falter for a word of cheer? 



She Always Made Home Happy. 

In an old churchyard stood a stone, 

Weather-marked and stained ; 
The hand of time had crumbled it, 

So only part of it remained : 
Upon one side I could just trace — 

"In memory of my mother." 
An epitaph which spoke of ''home." 

Was chiseled on the other. 

I'd gaze on monuments of fame, 

High towering to the skies ; 
I'd seen the sculptured marble stone 

Where a great hero lies ; 
But by this epitaph I paused, 

And read it o'er and o'er, 
For I had never seen inscribed 

Such words as these before : 

"She always made home happy," 

A noble record left, 
A legacy of memory sweet 

To those she loved bereft ; 
And what a testimony given 

By those who knew her best, 
Engraved on this plain rude stone, 

That marked the mother's rest ! 

It was an humble resting place, 

I knew that they were poor ; 
But they had seen their mother sink, 

And patiently endure. 
They had marked her cheerful spirit. 

When bearing one by one, 
Her many burdens up the hill, 

Till all her work was done. 

So, when was stilled her weary heart, 

Folded her hands so white, 
And she was carried from the home 

She always made so bright, 
Her children made a monument 

That money can't secure, 
As witness of a noble life, 

Whose record will endure. 



Oi.mstead's Recitations. 



■87 



A noble life ! but written not 

In tiny book of fame ; 
Among the list of noted i 

None ever saw her name ; 
For only Inn- own household knew 

The victories she had won, 
And none but they could testify 

How well her work was done. 

The Family Bible- 

ANONYMOUS. 

How painfully pleasing the fond recol- 
lection 
Of youthful connexions and innocent 
joy, 
When, blessed with parental advice and 
affection, 
Surrounded with mercies, with peace 
from on high, 
I still view the chair of my sire and my 
• mother, 
The seats of their offspring as ranged 
on each hand, 
And that richest of all books, which ex- 
celled every other — 
The family Bible, that lay on the stand ; 
The old-fashioned Bible, the dear, bless- 
ed Bible, 
The family Bible that lay on the stand. 

That Bible, the volume of God's inspira- 
tion, 
At morning at evening, could yield us 
delight, 
And the prayer of our sire was a sweet 
invocation, 
For mercy by day, and for safety 
through night. 
Our hymns of thanksgiving, with har- 
mony swelling, 
Half raised us from earth to that raptur- 
ous dwelling, 
Described iu the Bible, that lay on the 
stand ; 
That richest of books, which excelled 
every other— 
The family Bible, that lay on the stand . 

Ye scenes of tranquility, long have we 
parted ; 



My hope's almost gone, and my parents 
no more ; 
In sorrow and sadness I live broken- 
hearted. 
And wander unknown on a far distant 
shore. 
Yet how can I doubt, a dear Savior's pro- 
tection. 
Forgetful of gifts from his bountiful 
hand ! 
O, let me, with patience, receive his 
correction, 
And think of the Bible, that lay on the 
stand ; 
The richest of books, which excelled any 
other 
The family Bible, that lay on the stand 



The Dream of Ambition- 

T UPPER. 

I left the happy fields that smile around 
the village of content, and sought with 
wayward feet the torrid desert of 
ambition. Long time parched and 
weary, I travelled that burning sand, 
and the hooded basilisk and adder were 
strewed in my way for palms; Black 
scorpians thronged me round with 
sharp uplifted stings, seeming to mock 
me as I ran, then I guessed it was a 
dream, but life is oft so like a dream, 
we know not where we are. 

So I toiled on doubting in myself, up 
a steep gravel cliff, whose yellows sum- 
mit shot up far into the brazen sky; 
and quickly I was wafted to the top, 
as upon unseen wings, carrying me 
upward like a leaf, then I thought it 
was a dream, yet life is oft so like a 
dream we know not what we are. So 
I stood on the mountain, and behold! 
before me a giant pyramid, and I clomb 
with eager haste its high and difficult 
steps;for-I longed like another Bel us, to 
mount up, 3 r ea to heaven, nor sought I 
rest until my feet had spurned the 
crest of earth. 

Then I sat on my grauite throne 
under the burning sun and the world 



188 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



lay smiliug beneath me but I was 
wrapped in flames and I hoped in 
glimmering consciousness that all this 
torture was a dream, yet life is oft so 
like a dream, we know not where we 
are. And anon, as T sat scorching, 
the pyramid shuddered to its root, and 
I felt the quarried mass leap from its 
sand foundations: awhile it tottered 
and tilted, as raised by invisible levers 
— and now my reason spake with me; I 
new it was a dream; yet I hushed that 
whisper into silence, for I hoped to 
learn of wisdom, by tracking up my 
truant thoughts, whereunto they might 
lead. 

And suddenly as rolling upon wheels, 
adown the cliff it rushed and I thought 
in my hot brain, of the muscovites icy 
slope; a thousand yards in a moment 
we ploughed the sandy seas, and crush- 
ed those happy fields, and that smiling 
village, and onward, as a living thing, 
still rushed my mighty thi one, thunder- 
ing along, and pounding, as it went, 
the millions in my way. Before me all 
was life and joy and full blown summer, 
behind me death and woe, the desert 
and simoon. 

Then I wept and shrieked aloud, 
for pity and for fear, but might not stop 
for, comet like flew on the maddened 
mass over the crashing cities, and fall- 
ing okelisks and towers, and columns 
razed as by a scythe and high domes 
shivered as an egg shell. And deep 
embattled ranks, and women, crowded 
in the streets, and children, kneeling 
as for mercy, and all I had ever loved, 
yea, over all, mine awful throne rushed 
on with seeming instinct and over the 
crackling forests, and over the rugged 
beach, and on, with a terrible hiss 
through the foaming wild atlantic, that 
roared around me as I sat, but could not 
quench my spirit, — Still on, through 
startled solitudes we shattered the 
pavement of the deep, down, down, to 
that central vault the bolted doors of 
tell; and these, with horrid shock, my 



huge throne battered in, ynd on to the- 
deepest deep, where the fierce flames, 
were hottest; blazing tenfold as con- 
quering furiously the seas that rushed 
in with me, — and there I stopped: and 
a fearful voice shouted in mine ear,, 
"behold the home of discontent; beholdi 
the rest of ambition. 



The Raising of Dorcas- 

(By permission.) 

Rev. Alfred J. Hough. 

It was long ago, w r hen the church was 

young; 
And the preachers preached with a 

fiery tongue, 
When the people prayed in the Holy- 
Ghost, 
And a handful grew in a day to a host, 
That a lowly worker with needle and. 

thread 
In the city of Joppa was lying dead. 
In an upper chamber by the sea 
She waited her last sad minstrelsy; 
The Chisel of Sorrow had left no trace 
To mar the form of her noble face, 
She seemed as one who had wrought. 

all day, 
Then quietly laid her w r ork away, 
And peacefully turned to rest a while 
In the tender light of her Master's 

smile; 
For a brighter sheen than the mornings 

wear 
Flowed over her face as she slumbered 

there. 
But the people rushed through the- 

streets all day, 
And the ships weighed anchor and 

sailed away; 
The world moved on, for it would not 

miss 
From its countless throngs such a life 

as this. 
Only a worker with needle and thread 
In an upper chamber was lying dead; 
But thither the widows and children 

came, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



189 



Wailing their sorrows and calling her 

name, 
Ever deferring the burial day, 
Refusing to carry the body away; 
•Counting her alms, deeds, telling them 

o'er, 
A disciple of Jesus, a friend of the 

poor, 
^Cheering the sad as an angel of light. 
How could they bury her out of their 

sight? 
Then a mother in Israel rose and said, 
"This sorrow avails not; Dorcas is 

dead. 
But Jesus hath power to quicken her 

clay! 
Bring Peter from Lydda aud let him 

praj." 
The counsel was timely. Peter was 

brought, 
They showed him the garments that 

Dorcas had wrought. 
With their passionate pleas they 

troubled the air. 
Would Jesus have mercy and answer 

prayer? 
Then Peter sent all the people away, 
And knelt at the side of the dead to 

pray; 
His face was turned to the gates of 

gold, 
At the touch of his prayer they back- 
ward rolled, 
And there in a listening attitude 
The form of his glorious Mastar stood. 
<4 Jesus of Nazereth!" Heaven grew 

still 
As Peter prayed. "If it be thy will, 
Send back to this form the spirit fled. 
Thy servant worked with a needle and 

thread ; 
She ministered daily to human ueeds, 
The Gospel preached by her loving 

deeds; 
And the poor of the city are sore dis 

tressed 
Because thou hast called her home to 

rest. 
We have thousands left who will face 

the stake, 



The rack and the prison for thy name's 

sake, 
But nobody comes her place to fill — 
O send her back if it be thy will! 
No shivering children throng the 

streets 
Of thy heavenly home; not'a sad heart 

beats 
In one of thy mansions fair and new — 
Thou hast nothing there for Dorcas to 

do!" 
Then the Master turned as he heard 

the prayer, 
And beckoned to one of his children 

there, 
And forth she ,came with obedience 

sweet 
All robed and crowned to the Master's 

feet. 
He told her the burden of Peter's plea: 
How the widows were weeping bitterly 
In the city of Joppa far away, 
And Peter was kneeling beside her clay 
Till the answer came; could she forego 
The joys of the heavenly life; and show 
Her love for God with as sweet a grace 
As she sang his praise in the heavenly 

place? 
Pass out from the song and fadeless 

bloom 
To her lowly task in a narrow room, 
With never a sigh for the glory tied, 
As she worked again with needle and 

thread? 
Swift as the lightning flies through 

heaven, 
Was the purpose formed and the an- 
swer given. 
To work for the love of the Lord below 
To sit in a desolate room and sew 
The seams of a coat, that an orphan lad 
Might leap for joy and be better clad, 
To her royal heart seemed a nobler 

thing, 
Than to stand up there by the throne 

and sing. 
Serving the Lord with a needle and 

thread, 
Stitchiug away till her fingers bled 
In a cheerless room in a louely street 



190 Olmstead's Recitations. 

Through the winter's cold and the sum- He sprang to his feet and called her 

mer's heat; name. 

That a widow's heart for a garment She answered with outstretched hand 

given and rose 

Might turn with praise to the Lord in As one who had taken a sweet repose. 

heaven; And the people paused in the street 

Filled her son 1 with a richer melody that day; 

Thau the harpers make on the jasper Not a ship weighed anchor or sailed 

sea. m away. • 

And that is the kind of religion we For the news through the city of Joppa 

need — sped. 

Enshrining itself in a loving deed; That the power of God had raised from 

Counting it better to serve the least, the dead 

Than to sit a guest at a royal feast. A lowly worker with nef die and 

Then the wondrous news through the thread. 

city sped To the valley of death the kings go 

That she who had wrought with needle down, 

and thread And never come back to the throne 
Had left the paradise of the blest, and the crown; 
Its cloudless skies and its vales of rest, Apostles and martyrs, a glorious band, 
Deeming it nobler to carry an alms Return not again from the silent land; 
To a suffering $oul than to sing high The masters of speech, the singers sub- 
Psalms lime, 
With a harp of gold in a grove of Are heard only once in the forum of 

palms. . time; 

And the heavens rang with a glorious The favored of fortune, the noble by 

strain, birth, 

That the love of the Lamb for sinners Leave once and forever their places on 

slain . earth; 

Did such an abounding glory shed But a lowly worker in Joppa plies 

That a lowly worker with needle and Her needle and thread for the poor and 

thread dies, 

Could sit in a narrow room and sew And she out of all that adorable train 

A coat for a child; and never know Was worthy to live her life over again. 

Her heart had a single pleasure lost, And all that remained to speak for the 

Though her soul had over the river dead 

crossed! Was a little lone labor with needle and 

Though her feet the heavenly floors thread. 

had trod The work of the sculptor shall suffer 

And her eyes had looked on the glory decay. 

of God: The tints of the painter shall vanish 

Then Peter knew that his prayer was away, 

heard; O'er temple and tower wild ruin shall 

The motion of wings the still air stir- spread, 

red, But the work of this woman Avith 

And the odor of heaven's unfading needle and thread 

bloom Shall shine when the stars drop out of 

Swept suddenly into the narrow room. the skv. 

A flush to the face of the sleeper came; As something too beautiful ever to die. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



19 



The spirit of Dorcas is still abroad, 
For the women work for the Love of 
God 

With needle and thread through weary 

hours; 
They build our churches with graceful 

towers; 
They pay Uie sexton-, the balance find 

When the minister's salary runs be- 
hind; 

They cushion the pews of the holy 
place, 

Aud with needle and thread will -stand 
aud face 

The mightiest debt that ever was pour- 
ed 

On a feeble church by a quarterly 
board. 

While the brethren fly the impending 
ills, 

The women walk up aud pay the bills; 

And churches that now sweet influence 
shed, 

Once held to life by their brittle thread. 

They purchase the organs with stops 
aud swells; 

They hang in the steeples the happy 
bells; 

They shingle the roofs, and they fresco 
the walls, 

And promptly respond to a hundred- 
calls, 

Williug their varied talents to use — 

In serving the Master or telling the 
news. 

They are ready to work and ready to 

pray, 
And they preach sometimes in a quiet 

way, 
Aud a man would rather enlist for the 

war 
Than the women should tell him just 

how things are. 
When the funds of the church are run- 
ning low, 
They call for a needle and thread and 

sew, 
Or the dimes of the people lightly take 
In exchange for delicious coffee and 

cake. 



They talk sometimes as their needles 
fly, 

lint a woman must either talk or die; 

Aud what if they should our faults re- 
hearse, 

Why, nobody seems one penny the 
worse, 

So gracefully is his death prepared, 

A man would rather be slain than spar- 
ed. 

The spirit of Dorcas is living still. 

For the women with consecrated skill. 

In the churches of God- throughout the 
land, 

Are working away with a willing hand. 

The mountains before them fade from 
view, 

And the ruins divide to let them 
through; 

If they ask for a dollar you'd better 
pay, 

Your money and get straight away. 

If you stand a moment to plead . or 
strive. 

Instead of one dollar they'll ask for 
live. 

A single heart with the word of God, 

The grace and the grit to pray and 
plod, 

The banner of Truth aloft unfurled 

And a sewing-circle— might beat the 
world. 



Hagar in the Wilderness. 

N. P. WILLIS. 

The morning broke. Light stole upon 
the clouds with a strange beauty. Earth 
received again its garment of a thousand 
dies ; and leaves, aud delicate blossoms, 
aud the painted {lowers, and everything 
that bendeth to the dew, and stirreth 
with the daylight, lifted up its beauty to 
the breath of that sweet morning. 

All things are dark to sorrow ; and 
the light, and loveliness, and fragrant 
air were sad to the dejected Hagar. The 
moist earth was pouring odors from its 
spicy pores, and the young birds were 
caroling as life were a new tiling to them ; 
but oh ! it came upon her heart like 



192 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



tffocord, and she felt how cruelly it tries 
a broken heart, to see a mirth in any- 
thing it loves. She stood at Abraham's 
lent. Her lips were pressed till the 
Mood left them ; aud the wandering 
veins of her transparent forehead were 
swelled out, as if her pride would burst 
them. Her dark eye was clear and tear- 
less, and the light of heaven, which made 
its language legible, shot back from her 
iong lashes, as it had been flame. Her 
noble boy stood by her, with his hand 
clasped in her own, and his round, deli- 
cate feet, scarce trained to balance on 
the tented floor, sandaled for journey- 
ing. He had looked up into his mother's 
face until he caught the spirit there, and 
his young heart was swelling beneath 
his snowy bosom, and his form straigh- 
tened up proudly in his tiny wrath, as if 
his light proportions would have swell- 
ed, had they but matched his spirit, to 
ihe man. 

Why bends the patriarch as he cometh 
now upon his staff so wearily ? His 
i>eard is upon his breast, and his high 
brow, so written with the converse of 
his God, beareth the^ swollen vein of 
agony. His lip is quivering, and his 
wonted step of vigor is not there ; and, 
though the morn is passing fair and 
beautiful, he breathes its freshness as it 
were a pestilence. Oh ! man may bear' 
with suffering ; his heart is a strong 
thing, and godlike in thegrasp of pain 
that wrings mortality ; but tear one cord 
affection clings to, part one tie that 
"binds him to a woman's delicate love, 
and his great spirit yieldeth like a 
ireed. 

He gave her the water and the bread, 
but spoke no word, and trusted not him- 
self to look upon her face but liid his 
hand, in silent blessing, on the fair- 
haired boy, and left her to her lot of 
loneliness. 

Should Hagar weep V May slighted 
rroman turn, and, as a vine the oak hath 
shaken off, bend lightly to her tender 
trust again? O no! by all her loveliness, 



by all that makes life poetry and beauty, 
no ! make her a slave ; steal from her 
rosy cheek by needless jealousies ; let 
the last star leave her a watcher by your 
couch of pain ; wrong her by petulance, 
suspicion, all that makes her cup a 
bitterness — yet give one evidence of love . 
and earth has not an emblem of devoted - 
ness like hers. Bnt, oh ! estrange her 
once, it boots not how, by wrong or sil- 
ence, anything that tells a change has 
come upon your tenderness, — and there 
is not a thing out of high heaven her 
pride o'ermastereth not. 

She went her way with a strong step 
and slow ; her pressed lip arched, and 
her clear eye undimmed,as it had been a 
diamond, and her form borne proudly 
up, as if her heart breathed through. 
Her child kept on in silence, though she 
oressed his hand till it was pained ; for 
he had caught, her spirit, there 
and the seed of a stern nation had been 
breathed upon. 

The morning past, and Asia's sun rode 
up in the clear heaven, and every beam 
was heat. The cattle of the hills were in 
the shade, and the bright plumage of 
Orient lay on beating bosoms in her 
spicy trees: it was an hour of rest ; but 
Hagar found no shelter in the wilder- 
ness, and on she kept her weary way 
the boy hnng down his head, and opened 
his parched lips for water ,but she could 
not give it him. She laid him down be- 
neath the sultry sky, — for it was better 
than the close, hot breath of the thick 
pines. — and tried to comfort him ; but 
he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes 
were dim and bloodshot, and he could 
not know why God denied him water in 
the wild. She sat a little longer, and 
he grew ghastly and faint, as if he would 
have died. It was too much for her. 
She lifted him, and bore him farther on, 
and laid his head beneath the shadow of 
a desert shrub ; and, shrouding up her 
face, she went away, and sat to watch, 
where he could see her not, till he should 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



193 



die ; and, watchiag him, she mourn- 
ed :— 

"God stay thee in thine agony my boy; 

I cannot see thee die; I cauuot brook 
Upon thy blow to look, 

And see death settle on my cradle joy. 
How have I drunk the light of thy blue 
eye ! 

And could I see thee die ? 

"I did not dream of this when thou wast 
straying, 
Like an unbound gazelle, among the 
flowers ; 
Or wearing rosy hours, 
By the rich gush of water-sources 
playing, 
Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, 
So beautiful and deep- 

"Oh no ! and when I watched by thee 
the while, 
And saw thy bright lip curling in thy 
dream, 
And thought of the dark stream 

In my own land of Egypt, the deep 
Nile, 
How prayed I that my father's land might 
be 
An heritage for thee ! 

"And now the grave for its cold breast 
hath won thee, 
An I thy white delicate limbs the 
earth will press ; 
And oh ! my last caress 
Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand 
is on thee 
How can I leave my boy, so pillowed 
there 
Upon his clustering hairl" 

She stood beside the well her God 
had given to gush in that deep wilder- 
ness, and bathed the forehead of her 
child until he laughed in his reviving 
happiness, and lisped his infant thought 
of gladness at the sight of the cool plash- 
ing of his mother's hand. 



Castles in the Air. 
As through this world we wander 

13 



Hopes brilliant star hangs high; 
We're looking ahead for belter things 
In the coming "by and by," 
Of life's troubles and its burdens, 
All, have doubtless their full share; 
But, where'er you go each one you meet 
Builds Castles in the Air. 

The jurist on the judges bench 
That law cannot evade; 
The artist at his canvass bright, 
The mechanic at his trade; 
The blacksmith at his anvil 
With brawny arm aud bare, 
The stoker in the steamer's hold — 
Build their Casfcles in the Air. 

Kind Providence, in His wisdom 

Has devised this happy plan; 

Its His law of nature applied to all 

Since first the world begau, — 

Just watch that darling little child, 

Fla3'ing so pretty there; 

She's building with her toys and blocks, 

Her, Castles in the Air. 

Observe the school-boy, rough and rude, 

No thought of books has he; 

He wander's with his dog and gun, 

A sportsman wild aud free; 

He scares the wild bird from her nest, 

The rabbit from his lair; 

You deem it strange, but, still, that boy 

Has, his Castles in the Air. 

The student o'er his midnight lamp, 

Tries hard to apply his rule; 

He's thinking now of other things 

Besides his work in school; 

He's dreaming of the time to come, 

W r hen with a maiden fair, 

By his own hearthstone, he'll realize 

His Castles in the Air. 

That boy and girl have now grown old, 
Their hair Is streaked with gray; 
They've seen their shattered Castles fall, 
Full many, and many a day; 
But they gather round the old hearth- 
stone 
Their heads bowed down with care; 
And o'ev their children's cradles, 
Still build Castles in the Air. 



194 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Now, good friends, in conclusion, — 
My advice to every man, 
While sailing o'er the sea of life 
Is "do the best you can"; 
And when death summons you to go 
If you've acted on the square; 
To the full extent you'll realize 
Your Castles in the Air. 

S. Olmstead. 
If sung, tune— Wearing of the Green. 



What one Boy thinks. 
A stitch is always dropping in the 
everlasting knitting, 
And the needles that I've threaded, 
no you couldn't count to-day; 
And I've hunted for the glasses till I 
thought my head was splitting, 
When there npon her forehead as 
calm as clocks they lay. 

I've read to her till I was hoarse, the 
Psalms and the Epistles, 
When the other boys were burning 
tar-barrels down the street; 
And I've stayed and learned my verses 
when I heard their willow whistles, 
And I've stayed and said my chapter 
with fire in both my feet. 

And I've had to walk beside her when 
she went to evening meeting, 
When I wanted to be racing, to be 
kicking, to be off; 
And I've waited while she gave the 
folks a word or two of greeting, 
First on one foot and the other and 
most strangled with a cough. 

"You can talk of Young America," I 
say, "till you are scarlet, 
It's Old America that has the inside 
of the track!" 
Then she wraps me with her thimble 
and calls me a young varlet, 
And then she looks so wo-begone I 
have to take it back. 

But! There always is a peppermint or 
a penny in her pocket — 
There never was a pocket that was 
half so big and deep — 



And she lets the candle in my room 
burn away down to the socket, 
While she stews and putters round 
about till I am sound asleep. 

There's always somebody at home when 
everyone is scattering; 
She spreads the jam upon your bread 
in a way to make you grow; 
She always takes a fellow's side when 
everyone is battering: 
And when I tear my jacket I know 
just where to go! 

And when I've been in swimming after 
father's said I shouldn't, 
And mother has her slipper off' 
according to the rule: 
It sounds as sweet as silver, the voice 
that says, "I wouldn't; 
The boy that won't go swimming 
such a day would be a fool!" 

Sometimes there's something in her 
voice as if she gave a blessing, 
And I look at her a moment and I 
keep still as a mouse — 
And who she is by this time there is no 
need of guessing; 
For there's nothing like a Grand- 
mother to have about the house! 

HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. 



The Burial of Arnold. 

N. P. WILLIS. 

Ye've gathered to your place of prayer 

With slow and measured tread : 
Your ranks are full, your mates all 
there— 

But the soul of one has fled. 
He was the proudest in his strength. 

The manliest of ye all ; 
Why lies he at that fearful length, 

And ye around his pall ? 

Ye reckon it in days, since he 
Strode up that foot-worn aisle, 

With his dark eye flashing gloriously, 
With his lip wreathed with a smile. 

O, had it been but told you, then, 
To mark whose lamp was dim, 

From out yon rank of fresh-lipped men, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



95, 



Would ye have singled him ? 

Whose was the sinewy arm, which flung 
Defiance to the ring ? 

Whose laugh of victory loudest rung- 
Yet not for glorying V 

Whose heart, in generous deed and 
thought, 
No rivalry might brook, 

And yet distinction claiming not ? 
There lies he— go and look ! 

On now — his requiem is done, 

The last deep prayer is said 
On to his burial, comrades — on, 

With the noblest of the dead ! 
Slow — for it presses heavily — 

It is a man ye bear ! 
Slow for our thoughts dwell wearily 

On the noble sleeper there. 

Tread lightly, comrades ! — we have laid 

His dark locks on his brow — 
Like life— save deeper light and shade : 

We'll not disturb them now. 
Tread lightly — for 'tis beautiful, 

That blue-veined eye-lid's sleep, 
Hiding the eye death left so dull — 

Its slumber we will keep. 

Rest now ! — his journeying is done — 

Your feet are on his sod- 
Death's chain is on your champion — 

He waiteth here his God ! 
Ay — turn and weep— 'tis manliness 

To be heart-broken here— 
For the grave of earth's best nobleness 

Is watered by the tear. 



CDjur Da Lion at 'the Bier of HisFather- 

Torches were blazing clear, 

Hymns pealing deep and slow, 
Where a king lay stately on his bier 

In the church of Fontevrault. 
Banner's of battle o'er him hung. 

And warriors slept beneath 
Aud light as noon's broad light was 
flung 

On the settled face of death : 

On the settled face of death 
A strong and ruddy glare, — 



Though dimmed at times by the ^cen- 
ser's breath, 

Yet it fell still brightest there ; 
As if each deeply furrowed trace 

Of earthly years to show, — 
Alas ! that sceptred mortal's race 

Had surely closed in woe ! 

The marble floor was swept 

By many a long dark stole, 
As the kneeling priests, round him that 
slept, 
Sang mass for the parted soul ; 
And solemn were the strains they pour- 
ed 
Through the stillness of the night, 
With the cross above, and the crown and 
sword, 
And the silent king in sight. 

There was heard a heavy clang, 

As of steel-girt men the tread, 
And the tombs and the hollow pavement 
rang 

With a sounding thrill of dread ; 
And the holy chant was hushed awhile,, 

As by the torch's flame, 
A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle 

With a mail-clad leader came. 

He came with haughty look, 

An eagle glance and clear ; 
But his proud heart thongh its breast- 
plate shook 

When stood beside the bier ! 



The Burning of Chicago. 

Reprinted, by permission, from 'Farm Legends* 
copyright. 18&7, by Harper Brothers. 

I 

'Twas night in the beautiful city, 

The famous and wonderful city. 

The proud and magnificent city, 

The Queen of the North and the West.. 

The riches of nations were gathered in, 
wondrous and plentiful store; 

The swift-speeding bearers of commerce- 
were waiting on river and shore;. 

The great staling walls towered sky- 
ward, with visage undaunted and 
bold 

Aud said, "We are ready, O Winter^ 



9 6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Come on with your hunger and cold! 
Sweep down with your storms, from the 

northward! Come out from your 
ice-guarded lair! 

Our larders have food for a nation! our 

wardrobes have clothing to spare! 
For off from the corn-bladed prairies, 

and out from the valleys and hills, 
The farmer has swept us his harvest, 

the miller has emptied his mills; 
And here, in the lap of our city, the 

treasures of autumn shall rest, 
In golden-crowned, glorious Chicago, 

the Queen of the North aud the 

West!" 

II 
'Twas night in the church-guarded city, 
The temple and alter-decked city, 
The turreted, spire-adorned city, 
The Queen of the North and the West. 
And out from the beautiful temples that 

wealth in its fullness had made, 
And out from the haunts that were 

humble, where poverty peacefully 

prayed, 
Where praises and thanks had been of- 
fered to Him where they rigntly 

belonged, 
In peacefulness quietly homeward the 

worshiping multitude thronged. 
The Pharisee, laden with riches and 

jewehw, costly and rare, 
Who proudly deigned thanks to Jehov- 
ah he was not as other men are; 
The penitent, crushed in his weakness, 

and laden with pain and with sin; 
The outcast who yearningly waited to 

hear the glad bidding, "Come 

in." 
And thus went they queitly homeward, 

with sins and omissions confessed, 
In spire-adorned, templed Chicago, the 

Queen of the North and the West. 

Ill 

'Twas night in the sin-burdened city, 
The turbulent, vice-laden city, 
The sin-compassed, rogue-haunted city, 
Though Queen of the North and the 

West. 



And low in their caves of pollution 
great beasts of humanity growled; 

And.over his money strewn table the 
gambler bent fiercely, and scowl- 
ed; 

And men with no seeming of manhood, 
with countenance flaming and 
fell, 

Drank deep from the fire-laden fount- 
ains that spring from the rivers 
of hell; 

And men with no seaming of manhood, 
who dreaded the coming of day, 

Prowled, cat-like, for blood-purchased 
plunder from men who were bet- 
ter than they. 

And men with no seeming of manhood, 
whose dearest craved gLory was 
shame, 

Whose joys were the sorrows of others, 
whose harvests were acres of 
flame, 

Slnnk, whispering and low, in their corn- 
ers with bowie and pistol tight 
pressed, 

In rogue-haunted, sin-cursed Chicago, 
though Queen of the North and 
the West. 

IV 

'Twas night in the elegant city, 

The rich and voluptuous city, 

The beauty thronged, mansion-decked 
city, 

Gay Queen of the North aud the West. 

And childhood was placidly resting in 
slumbers untroubled and deep; 

And softly the mother was fondling her 
innocent baby to sleep; 

And maidens were dreaming of pleas- 
ures and triumphs the future 
should show, 

And scanning the brightness and glory 
of joys they were never to know; 

And firesides were cheerful and happy, 
and comfort smiled sweety 
around; 

But grim desolation and ruin looked in- 
to the window and frowned. 

And pitying angels looked downward, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



97 



and gazed on their loved ones 
below, 

And longed to reaeh forth a deliverance, 
and yearned to beat backward 
the foe; 

But pleasure and comfort were reign- 
ing, nor dauger was spoken or 
guessed, # 

In beautiful, golden Chicago, gay Queen 
of the North and the West. 



Taen up in the streets of the city 

The careless and negligent city, 

The soon to be sacrificed city, 

Doomed Queen of the North and the 
West, 

Crept, softly and slyly, so tiny it hardly 
was worthy the name, 

Crept, slowly and soft through the rub- 
bish a radiant serpent of flame. 5 

The south-wind and west-wind came 
shrieking, "Rouse up in your 
strength and your ire! 

For many a year they have chained you 
and crushed you, O demon of 
tire! 

For many a year they have bound you, 
and made you their servant and 
slave ! 

Now, rouse you, and dig for this city a 
fiery and desolate grave! 

Freight heavy with grief and with wail- 
ing her world-scattered pride and 
renown! 

Charge straight on her mansions of 
splendor and battle her battle- 
ments clown! 

And we, the strong south-wind and 
west-wiud, with thrice-doubled 
fury possessed, 

Will sweep with you over this city, this 
Queen of the North and the 
West!" 

VI 

Then straight at the great quiet city, 
The strong and o'erconfident city, 
The well nigh invincible city, 
Doomed Queen of the North and the 
West. 



The fire-devil rallied his legions, and 
speeded them forth on the wind, 

With tinder and treasures before him, 
with ruins and tempests behind. 

The tenement crushed neath his foot- 
steps, the mansions oped wide at 
his knock; 

And walls that had frowned him defi- 
ance, they trembled and fell with 
a shock; 

And down on the hot, smoking house- 
tops came raining a deluge of fire; 

And serpents of flame writhed and 
clambered, and twisted off steeple 
and spire; 

And beautiful, glorious Chicago, trie 
city of riches and fame, 

Was swept by a storm of destruction, 
was flooded by billows of flame. 

The tire-king loomed high in his glory, 
with crimson and flame-stream- 
ing crest, 

And grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago 
doomed Queen of the North and 
the West. 

VII 

Then swiftly the quick-breathing city, 

The fearful and pauic-struck city, 

The startled and fire-deluged city, 

Rushed back from the South and the 
West, 

And loudly the fire-bells were clanging, 
and ringing their funeral notes; 

And loudly wild accents of terror came 
pealing from thousands of throats; 

And loud was the wagon's deep rumbl- 
ing, and loud the wheel's clatter 
anil creak; 

And loud was the calling for succor 
from those who were sightless 
and weak; 

And loud were the hoofs of the horses, 
and loud was the tramping of 
feet; 

And loud was the gale's ceaseless howl- 
ing through fire-lighted alley and 
street; 

But louder, yet louder, the crashing of 
roofs aud of walls, as they fell; 

And louder, yet louder, the roaring that 



i9» 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



told of the coming of hell. 

T..-I ~ r -::: zzr-z-v ■;.,;•..; 7z z.^izzizii- 
tie from off his great blood-dap- 
: '.? i :,..-: 

And sneered in the face of Chicago, the 

•^ :-:. : :i~ y :::;. 11 :". ::: *X-s: 

vni 

Ailuere iz ::t :e: rizir v:it. 
7_t : ii: :■->!: zk ~.-z ::-.:..::: :■::- 
7_r ijizg n 1 -i-r :::>:rl :-:it. 
The torch of the North and the W 

A Zrizzi77 ziiidzi 7ij -_.ii::: i- 
mi 7 :. lij -It 111 ii.i 

:i: :' :::- : : izzzi ; iii 
Tir izzrz ;.s :.:••:::: zzzr :: _z_ — _t 
":t^::t:::> _:: irz/zz :z iri 
::ttl. 
She fled from his touch, but he caught 
L-: 111 i-\: l-z 77 ::^:r^ 

111 — ri£ 

Tit:::-!::! iizzi: ir: 11 i ir.i 

zz: ii — ir_ ill i:j:t!::i: rzz 

Kt — zi :t: it: i': : z: iz ii; -Ti:zri:i 
i~ :::-t: lis 1:: ii. ? z 1t::.:- 

Tiri ji:-rii- i :iiri~:: :^::::z:: 
he scornfully flung her away, 

An 1 izikzfzzi i:i :r^:ri zz :i- 

zzi- ":i£i : ~: izi iiizziitZ 

•:f -17— 
L:-7 kiiz-Zr : izi :z ziri .7 zif z:z- 

knz. -- rziz-ri ii: irs-zii- rz-: 
: 

i-ri :: :zr > r:z -.11 :- VT r « : 

rx 

7~i? zzrz iz kir i-riiiiz-r ztj 
Tic nzr-i 11 i rzii-izizri :irj. 
The homeless and hot-smoking city. 
7zr rzz : Zr > :z.z 111 Zr -7,: 
E 1: i — 1 zzzi iz -Vri: zir :z ai- 
ding, "O Queen, lift in courage 
:i7~irii 
7_j fz-.rZ.Ls iii :i7 z ri :: ; zziz 
ni iizri — i:z :z ziri: 111 
bread." 
And up from the Booth came the bid- 
dings, "Cheer up, 
:: :z 77i,- 



For comfort and aid shall be coming 
from out our ravannas and 

And down from the North came the 
biddings, *0 city, be hopeful of 
cheer! 

We Ye some what to spare for thy suf- 
t ferers, for all of our suffering 

And up from the East came the-bidding, 
"O city, be dauntless and bold! 

Look hither for food and for raiment — 
look hither for credit and gold!" 

And all through the world went the bid- 
dings, "Bring hither your ehoic- 
tz iii \ t ■: 

For weary and hungry Chicago, sad 
^z-tZ :: z: y n z .,_ i :z- 
West 



O crushed but invincible city! 

i'":::iTZ z izizz: :■;:- 

O glorious and uneonquered city. 

Still Queen of the North and the West! 

7_.rzir rzirz 7,11- :: :_, : zz 



Zllr 

Shall glisten upon thy rich garments, 
shall -twine in the folds of thy 



:zz :zzr izizz- :: Z17 : zz- 
new columns of beauty shall 



A:::'.:: :.z: i::irf 7i77 iz: rzizi- 

z:zz::zziz:z :: iz 



::z zztz'tZizt; :: zziiz 
the treasures of 



zr ZttZ- kzz". -tt: izzzt nni- 
— ir: 111 iitzt :ir kiii? :: ::j 



For Heaven will look downward in 

: 1 : 1 : - r — 1 . "z z^: 
:zt r: 7 

Azi nil- 7 izz:i :ir7 — iii -7:-z,: 
111 :i-> zi Zt ":z-ziz- :: -: 1 
Once more thou shall stand "mid the 
by 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



199 



grand and unconquered Chicago, 
still Queen of the North and the 
West! 



Damon and Pythias; or, True Friendship. 
Wm, Peter. 

'"Here, guards!" pale with fear, Dion}*- 
sius cries, 
"Here, guards, yon intruder arrest! 
'Tis Damon — but ha! speak, what means 
this disguise? 
And the dagger which gleams in thy 
vest?" 
'"T was to free," says the youth, "this 
dear land from its chains!" 
"Free the land! wretched fool, thou 
shalt die for thy pains." 

"'I am ready to die— 1 ask not to live, — 

Yet three days of respite, perhaps thou 
may'st give, 
For to-morrow, my sister will wed, 

And 'twould damp all her joy. were her 
brother not there; 

Then let me, I pray, to her nuptials re- 
pair, 
While a friend remains here in my 
stead." 

With a sneer on his brow, and a curse 
in his breast, 

"Thou shalt have," cries the tyrant, 
"shalt have thy request; 
To thy sister repair, and her nuptails 
attend, 

Enjoy thy three days, but — mark well 
what I say — 

Return on the third; if beyond that fix- 
ed day, 

There be but one hour's, but one mom- 
ent's delay, 
That delay shall be daath to thy 
friend!" 

Then to Pythias he went; and he told 

him his case; 
That true friend answered not, but, with 

instant embrace, 
Consenting, rushed forth to be bound 

in his room; 
And now as if winged with new life 

from above, 



To his sister he Hew, did his errand of 
love, 

And ere a third morning had brighten- 
ed the grove, 
Was returning with joy to his doom. 

But the heavens interpose, 
Stern the tempest arose, 
And when the poor pilgrim arrived at 
the shore, 
Swoll'n to torrents, the rills 
Rushed in foam from the hills, 
And crash went the bridge in the whirl- 
pool's wild roar. 

Wildly gazing, despairing, half frenzied 
he stood; 

Dark, dark were the skies, and dark 
was the Hood, 
And still darker his lorn heart's emo- 
tion; 

And he shouted for aid, but ho aid was 
at hand, 

No boat ventured forth from the surf- 
ridden strand, 

And the waves sprang, like woods, o'er 
the lessening land, 
And the stream was becoming an 
ocean. 

Now with knees low to earth, and with 

hands to the skies, 
"Still the storm, God of might, God of 

mercy!" he cries — 
"O, hush with Thy breath this loud 

sea; 
The hours hurry by, — the sun glows on 

high; 
And should he go down, and I reach 

not yon town, 
My friend — he must perish for me!" 

Yet the wrath of the torrent still went 

on increasing, 
And waves upon waves still dissolved 

without ceasing, 
And hour after hour hurried on; 
Then by anguish impelled, hope and 

fear alike o'er, 
He, reckless, rushed into the water's 

deep roar; 
Rose — sunk — struggle d o n — t ill, at 

length, the wished shore, — 



200 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Thauks to Heaven's outstretched 
hand — it is won: 

But new perils await him; scarce "scap- 
ed from the Hood, 
And intent on redeeming each mom- 
ent's delay, 

As onward he sped, lo! from out a dark 
wood, 
A baud of fierce robbers encompassed 
his way. 

"What would ye?" he cried, save my 
life, I have naught;? 

"Nay, that is the king's."— Then swift 
having caught 

A club from the nearest, and swiuging 
it round 

With might more than man's, he laid 
three on the ground, 
While the rest hurried off in dismay. 

But the noon's scorching flame 
Soon shoots through his frame, 
And he turns, faint and way-worn, to 
Heaven with a sigh — 
'From the flood and the foe, 
Thou'st redeemed me, and oh! 
Thus, by thirst overcome, must I effort- 
less lie, 
And leave him, the beloved of my bos- 
om, to die?" 

Scarce uttered the word, 
When startled he heard 
Purling sounds, sweet as silver's, fall 
fresh on his ear; 
And lo! a small rill 
Trickled down from the hill! 
He heard, and he saw, and, with joy 

drawing near. 
Laved his limbs, slaked his thirst, and 
renewed his career. 

And now the sun's beams through the 

deep boughs are glowing. 
And rock, tree, and mountain, their 

shadows are throwing, 
Huge and grim, o'er the meadow's 

bright bloom; 
And two travelers are seen coming 

forth ou their way, 
And just as they passed, he hears one 

of them say — 



"Tis the hour that was fixed for his 
doom!" 

Still anguish gives strength to his wav- 
ering flight; 

On he speeds; and lo! now in eve's red- 
dening light 
The domes of far Syracuse blend; — 

There Philostratus meets him, ia ser- 
vant grown gray 

In his house,) crying, ••Back! not 'a 
moment's delay. 
No cares can avail for thy friend. 

"No; nothing can save his dear head 
from the tomb; 
So think of preserving thy own. 
Myself, I beheld him led forth to his 
doom ; 
Ere this his brave spirit has flown ! 
With confident soul he stood, hour after 
hour. 
Thy return never doubting to see; 
No sneers of the tyrant that faith could 
o'erpower. 
Or shake his assurance in thee!" 

•'And is it too late*? and can not I save 

His dear life? then, at least, let me 
share in bis grave! 

Yes. death shall unite us! no tyrant 
shall say. 

That friend to his friend proved untrue; 
he may slay; — 

May torture. — may mock at all mercy 
and ruth, 

But ne'er shall he doubt of our friend- 
ship and truth." 

Tis sunset; and Damon arrives at the 

gate. 
Sees the scaffold and multitudes gaz 

ing below; 
Already the victim is bared for his fate, 
Already the deathsman stands armed 

for the blow; 
When hark! a wild voice which echoed 

around, 
•Stay! — 'tis I — it is Damon, for whom 

he was bound! 

And now tney sink in each other's em- 
brace. 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



201 



And are weeping for joy and despair; 

Not a soul, among thousands, but melts 

at their 

Which swift to the monarch they 

bear; 

Even he. too is moved— feels for once 

as he ought — 
And commands, that they both to his 
throne shall be brought. 

Then, — alternately gazing on each gal- 
laut youth. 
With looks of awe. wonder and 
shame; — 
•Ye have conquered:" he cries 
now that truth,— 
That friendship is not a mere name. 
Go; — you're free; but, while -life's dear- 
est blessings you prove. 
Let one prayer of your monarch be 
heard. 
That— his past sins forgot— in this union 
of love. 
And of virtue — you make him the 
third." 



The African Chief. 



BYBOX 



Chain'd in the market place he stood, 

A man of giant frame. 
Amid the gathering multitude 

That shrunk to hear his name. — 
All stern of look and strong of limb, 

His dark eye on the ground, — 
And silently they gazel on him. 

A- . bound. 

Vainly, but well, the chief had fought, 

He was a captive now; 
Yet pride that fortune humbles not, 

Was written on his brow. 
The scars, his dark broad bosom wore, 

Show'd warrior true and brave ; 
A prince among his tribe before, 

He could not be a s 

Then to his conqueror he spake — 

(o) "My brother is a king : 
Undo this necklace from my neck. 

And take this bracelet ring. 
And send me where my brother reigns, 



And I will till thy hands 
With store of ivory from the plai 

And gold dust from the sands." 

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold 

Will I unbind thy chain ; 
That bloody hand shall never hold 

The battle spear again. 
A price thy nation never gave 

Shall yet be paid for thee ; 
For thou shalt be the Christaiu's slave, 

In lauds beyond the sea." 

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade 

To shred his locks away; 
And, one by one, each heavy braid 

Before the victor lay. 
Thick were the plaited locks, and long, 

And deftly hidden there, 
Shone many a wedge of gold among 

The dark and crisped hair. 

Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold 

Long kept for sorest need ; 
Take it — thou askest sums untol 

And say that I am freed. 
Take it— (— my wife, the long, long day 

Weeps by the cocoa tree, 
And my young children leave their play, 

And ask in vain for me." 

'•I take thy gold — but I have made 

Thy fetters fast aud strong, 
And mean that by the cocoa shade, 

Thy wife shall wait thee long." 
Strong was the agony that shook 

The captive's frame to hear. 
And the proud meaning of his look 

Was changed to mortal fear. 

His heart was broken — crazed his brain. — 

At once his eye grew wild, 
He struggled fiercely with his chain, 

Whisper'd, and wept, and smil'd ; 
Yet wore not long those fatal bands. 

For once, at shut of day. 
They drew him forth vpon the sands. 

The foul hyena's prey. 



King Volmer and Elsie- 

Where, over heathen doom-rings and 
gray stones of the Horg. 



202 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



In its little Christian city stands the 
church of Vordingborg, 

In merry mood King Volmer &at, for- 
getful of his power, 

As idle as the Goose of Gold that brood- 
ed on his tower. 

Out spake the king to Henrik, his 
young and faithful squire: 

"Dar'st trust thy little Elsie, the maid 
of thy desire?" 

"Of all the men in Denmark she loveth 
only me; 

As true to me isElsie as Lily is to thee." 

Loud laughed the king: "To-morrow 

shall bring another day, 
When I myself will tempt her, she 

will not say me nay," 
Thereat the lords and gallants that 

round about him stood, 
Wagged all their heads in concert and 

smiled as courtiers should, 

The gray lark sings o'er Vordingburg, 

and on the ancient town 
From the tall tower of Valdemar the 

Golden Goose looked down: 
The yellow grain is waving in the 

pleasant wind of morn, 
The wood resounds with cry of hounds 

and blare of hunter's horn. 

In the garden of her father little Elsie 

sits and spins, 
And, singing with the early birds, her 

daily task begins. 
Gay tulips bloom and sweet mint curls 

around her garden-bower, 
But she is sweeter than the mint and 

fairer than the flower. 

About her form her kirtel blue clings 

lovingly, and, white 
As snow, her loose sleeves only leave 

her small round wrists in sight; 
Below the modest petticoat can only 

half conceal 
The motion of the lightest foot that 

ever turned a wheel. 

The cat sits purring at her side, bees 
hum in sunshine warm. 



But look! she starts, she lifts her face, 
she shields it with her arm. 

And hark! a train of horsemen, with 
sound of dog and horn, 

Come leaping o'er the ditches, come 
trampling down the corn! 

Merrily rang the bridle-reins, and scarf 

and plume streamed gay, 
As fast beside her father's gate the 

riders held their way; 
And one was brave in scarlet cloak, 

with gollden spur on heel, 
And, as he checked his foaming steed, 

the maiden checked her wheel. 

"All hail among the roses the fairest 
rose to me! 

For weary months in secret my heart 
hath longed for thee!" 

What noble knight was this? What 
words for modest maiden's ear? 

She dropped a lowly courtesy of bash- 
fulness and fear. 

She lifted up her spinning-wheel; she 

fain would reach the door, 
Trembling in every limb, her cheek 

with blushes crimsoned o'er. 
"Nay, fear me not," the rider said, i'l 

offer heart and hand, 
Bear witness these good Danish knights 

who round about me stand. 

"I grant you time to think of this, to 
answer as you may, 

For to-morrow little Elsie, shall bring 
another day." 

He spake the old phrase slyly as, glanc- 
ing round his train, 

He saw his merry followers seek to 
hide their smiles in vain. 

"The snow of pearls I'll scatter in your 

curls of golden hair, 
I'll line with fur the velvet of the kirtla 

that you wear; 
All precious gems shall twine your 

neck; and in a chariot gay 
You shall ride, my little Elsie, drawn 

by four steeds of gray. 

"And harps shall sound, and flutes 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



203 



play, and brazen lamps shall 

glow; 
Oil marble floors your feet shall weave 

the dances to and fro. 
At frosty eventide for us the blazing 

hearth shall shine, 
While, at our ease we play at draughts, 

and drink the blood-red wine." 

Then Elsie raised her head and met her 

wooer.'face to face; 
A roguish smile shone in her eye and 

on her lip found place. 
Back> from her low white forehead the 

curls of gold she threw, 
And lifted up her eyes to his steady 

and clear and blue. 

"I am a lowly peasant, and you a gal- 
lant knight; 

I will not trust a love that soon may 
cool and turn to slight. 

If you would wed me henceforth be a 
peasant, not a lord; 

I bid you hang upon the wall your 
tried and trusty sword." 

"To please you, Elsie, I will lay keen 

Dynadel away, 
And in its place will swing the scythe 

and mow your father's hay." 
"Nay, but your gallant scarlet cloak 

my eyes can never bear; 
A Vadmal coat, so plain and gray, is 

all that you must wear." 

"Well, Vadmal will I wear for you," 

the rider gayly spoke, 
"And on the Lord's high altar I'll lay 

my scarlet cloak. " 
"But mark," she said, "no stately horse 

my peasant love must ride, 
A yoke of steers before the plough is all 

that he must guide." 

The knight looked down upon his 

steed: "Well let him wander free: 
No other man must ride the horse that 

has been backed by me. 
Henceforth I'll tread the furrow and to 

my oxen talk, 
If only little Elsie beside my plough 

will walk." 



"You must take from out your cellar 
cask of wine and flask and can; 

The homely mead I brew you may 
serve a peasant-man." 

"Most willingly, fair Elsie, I'll drink 

that mead of thine, 
And leave my minstrel's thirsty throat 

to drain my generous wine." 

"Now break your shield asunder, and 

shatter sign and boss, 
Unmeet for peasant-wedded arms, your 

knightly knee across. 
And pull me down your castle from 

top to basement wall, 
And let your plough trace furrows in 

the ruins of your hall!" 

Then smiled he with a lofty pride; 

right well at least he knew 
The maiden of the spinning-wheel was 

to her troth- plight true. 
"Ah, rougish little Elsie! you act your 

part full well: 
You know that I must bear my shield 

and in my castle dwell! 

"The lions ramping on that shield be- 
tween the hearts aflame 

Keep watch o'er Denmark's honor, and 
guard her ancient name. 

For know that I am Volmer; I dwell in 
yonder towers, 

Who ploughs them ploughs up Den- 
mark, this goodly home of ours! 

"I tempt no more, fair Elsie! your heart 

I know is true; 
Would God that all our maidens were 

good and pure as you! 
Well have you pleased your monarch, 

and he shall well repay; 
God's peace! Farewell! To-morrow will 

bring another day!" 

He lifted up his bridle hand, he spurred 

his good steed then, 
And like a whirl-blast swept away with 

all his gallant men. 
The steel hoofs beat the rocky path; 

again on winds^of morn 
The wood resounds with cry of hounds 

and blare of hunter's horn. 



204 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



"Thou true ami ever faithful!" the 

listening Henri cried; 
And, leaping o'er the green hedge, he 

stood by Elsie's side. 
None saw the fond embracing, save 

shining from afar, 
The Golden Goose that watched them 

from the tower of Valdemar. 

O darling girls of Denmark! of all the 

flowers that throng 
Her vales of spring the fairest, I sing 

for you my song; 
No praise as yours so bravely rewards 

the singer's skill; 
Thank God! of maids like Elsie the 

laud has plenty still! 



Godiva. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 



Not only we the latest seed of time, 
new men that in the flying of a wheel, 
cry down the past ; not only we that 
prate of rights and wrongs, have loved 
the people well, and loathed to see them 
overtaxed ; but she did more, and over- 
went and overcame, the woman of a 
thousand summers back, Godiva. wife 
to that grim Earl who ruled in Coven- 
try : for when he laid a tax upon his 
town, and all the mothers brought their 
children, clamoring, "If we pay, we 
starve!" she sought her lord and found 
him, where he strode about the hall a- 
mong his dogs, alone, his beard a foot 
before him, and his hair a yard behind. 
She told him of their tears, and prayed 
him, "If they pay this tax they starve." 
Whereat he stared, replying, half amaz- 
ed, "you would not let your little finger 
ache for such as these ?"— "But I would 
die," said she. He laughed, and swore 
by Peter and by Paul : then filliped at 
the diamond in her ear ; "O, ay, ay, 
ay, you talk!" — "Alas!" she said, "But 
prove me what it is I would not do." and 
from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, 
he answered, "Ride you naked through 
the town, and I repeal it;" and nodding 



as in scorn, he parted, with great 
strides among his dogs. 

So left alone, the passions of her mind, 
as winds from all the compass shift and 
blow, made war upon each other for an 
hour, till pity won. She sent a herald 
forth, and bade him cry with sound of 
trumpet, all the hard condition ; but 
that she would loose the people ; there- 
fore, as they loved her well, from then 
till noon no foot should pace the sireet, 
no eye look down, she passing ; but 
that all should keep within, door shut 
and window barred. Then fled she to 
her inmost bower, and there unclasped 
the wedded eagles of her belt, the grim 
Earl's gift; but ev r at a breath she 
lingered, looking like a summer moon 
half dipt in cloud : anon she shook her 
head, and showered the rippled ringlets 
to her knee; unclad herself in haste; a- 
down the stair stole on; and like a 
creeping sunbeam, slid from pillar unto 
pillar, until she reached the gateway; 
there she found her palfrey trapt in pur- 
ple, blazoned with armorial gold. Then 
she rode forth, clothed onAvith chastity: 
the deep air listened round, her as she 
rode, and all the low wind hardly breath- 
ed for fear. The little wide-mouthed 
heads upon the spout had cunning eyes 
to see: the barking cur made her cheek 
flame: her palfre3 7 's footfall shot light 
horrors through her pulses: the blind 
w^alls were full of chinks and holes; and 
overhead fantastic gables, crowding, 
stired; but she not less through all bore 
up, till, last, she saw the white-flowered 
elder-thicket from the field gleam 
through the Gothic archways in the 
wall. Then she rode back, clothed on 
with chastity: and one low churl, com- 
pact of thankless earth, the fatal by- 
word of all years to come, boring a iittle 
auger-hole in fear, peeped— but his eyes, 
before they had their will, were shriveled 
into darkness in his head, and dropt be- 
fore him. So the powers, who wait on 
noble needs, canceled a sense misused; 
and she, that knew not, passed: and all 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



205 



at once, with twelve great shocks of 
sound, the shameless noon was clashed 
and hammered from a hundred towers 
one after one: but even then she gained 
her bower; whence re-issuing, robed and 
crowned, to meet her lord, she took the 
tax away, and built herself an everlast- 
ing name. 



King Robert of Sicily. 
H. W. Longfellow. 
Robert of Sicily, brother of PopeUrbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Appareled in magnificent attire 
With retinue of many a knight and 

squire, 
On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly 

sat 
And heard the priests chant the Mag- 
nificat. 
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 
Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 
He caught the words, " Deposuit potentcs 
De sede, et exaltavit humiles;" 
And slowly lifting up his kingly head, 
He to a learned clerk beside him said, 
''What mean those words?" The clerk 

made answer meet, 
*'He has put down the mighty from 

their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scorn- 
fully, , 
*"Tis well that such seditious words are 

sung 
Only by priests, and in the Latin 

tongue; 
For unto priests and people be it 

known, 
There is no power cau push me from 

my throne!" 
And leaning back he yawned and fell 

asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and 
deep. 

When he awoke, it was already night; 
The church was empty, and there was 
no light, 



Save where the lamps, that glimmered 

few and faint, 
Lighted a little space before some saint. 
He started from his seat and gazed 

around, 
But saw no living thing and heard no 

sound. 
He groped towards the door, but it was 

locked; 
He ciied aloud, and listened, and then 

knocked, 
And uttered awful threaten ings and 

complaints, 
And imprecations upon men and saints. 
The sounds re-echoed from the roof 

and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in 

their stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from 

without 
The tumult of the knocking and the 

shout; 
And thinking thieves were in the house 

of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who 

is there?" 
Half choked with rage, King Robert 

fiercely said, 
"Open 'tis J, the king? Art thou 

afraid?" 
The frightened sexton, muttering with 

a curse. 
'This is some drunken vagabond, or 

worse!" 
Turned the great key and flnug the 

portal wide; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
Haggard, half-naked, without hat or 

cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at 

him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the darkness of the 

night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his 

sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of PopeUrbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire; 
Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent 
with mire, 



2o6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



With sense of wrong aud outrage des- 
perate, 

Strode on and thundered at the palace 
gate; 

Rushed through the court-yard, thrust- 
ing in his rage 

To right and left each seneschal and 
page, 

And hurried up the broad and sound- 
ing stair, 

His white face ghastly in the torches' 
glare. 

From hall to hall he passed with breath- 
less speed; 

Voices and cries he heard, but did not 
heed, 

Until at last he reached the banquet- 
room, 

Blazing with light, hnd breathing with 
perfume. 

There on the dias sat another king, 

Wearing his robes, his crown, his sig- 
net-ring — 

King Robert's self in features, form, 
and height, 

But all transfigured with angelic light; 

It was an angel; and his presence there 

With a divine effulgence filled the air, 

An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 

Though none the hidden angel recog- 
nize. 

A mornem speechless, motionless, amaz- 
ed, 

The throneless monarch on the angel 
gazed, 

Who met his look of anger and surprise 

With the divine compassion of his eyes! 

Then said, "Who art thou, and why 
com' st thou here?" 

To which King Robert answered with 
a sn8er, 

"I am the king, and come to claim my 
own 

From an imposter who usurps my 
throne!" 

And suddenly at these audacious 
words, 

Up sprang the angry guests and drew 
their swords; 

The angel answered with unruffled 
brow, 



"Nay, not the king, but the king's jest- 
er; thou 

Henceforth shall wear the bells and 
scalloped cape 

And for thy counselor shall lead an 
ape; 

Thou shalt obey my servants when 
they call, 

And wait upon my henchmen in the 
hall!" 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries 
and prayers, 

They thrust him from the hall and 
down the stairs; 

A group of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding 
door, 

His heart failed, for he heard with 
faint alarms; 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at- 
arms, 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and 
ring 

With the mock plaudits of "Long live 
the king!" 

Next morning, waking with the day's 

first beam, 
He said within himself, "It was a 

dream!" 
But the straw rustled as he turned his 

head, 
There were the cap and bell beside his 

bed, 
Around him rose the bare, discolored 

walls, 
Close by, the steeds were champing in 

their stalls 
And in the corner a revolting shape, 
Shivering and chattering, sat the 

wretched ape. 
It was no dream; the world he loved so 

much 
Had turned to dust aud ashes at his 

touch ! 

Days came and went; and now return- 
ed again 

To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; 

Under the angel's governance benign 

The happy island danced with corn 
and wine, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



207 



And deep within the mountain's burn- 
ing breast 
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 
Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his 

fate, 
Sullen aud silent and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that jesters 

wear, 
With look bewildered and a vacant 

stare, 
Close shaven above the ears as monks 

are shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed 

to scorn, 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left— he still was unsub- 
dued. 
And when the angel met him on his 

way, 
And half in earnest, half in jest "would 

say, 
Sternly, though tenderly that he might 

feel 
The velvet scabbard held a sword of 

steel, 
"Art thou the king?" the passion of 

his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow, 
And lifting high his forehead, he would 

fling 
The haughty answer back, "I am, I am 

the king!" 

Almost three years were ended, when 

there came 
Ambassadors of great repute and name 
From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Unto King Robert, saying that Pope 

Urbane 
By letter summoned them forthwith to 

come 
On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 

The ang3l with great joy received his 
guests. 

And gave them presents of embroider- 
ed vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine 
lined, 

And rings and jewels of the rarest 
kind. 



Then he departed with them o'er the 

sea 
Into tha lovely land of Italy, 
Whose loveliness was more resplendent 

made 
By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 
With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, 

aud the stir 
Of jeweled bridle and of goldeu spur. 

And lo! among the menials, in mock 
state, 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling 
gait, 

His cloak of foxtails flapping in the 
wind, 

The solemu ape demurely perched be- 
hind, 

King Robert rode making huge merri- 
ment 

In all the country towns through which 
they went. 

The Pope received them with great 

pomp and blare 
Of bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's 

Square, 
Giving his benediction and embrace, 
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
While with congratulations and with 

prayers 
He entertained the angel unawares, 
Robert, the jester, bursting through 

the crowd, 
Into their presence rushed, aud cried 

aloud: 
"I am the king! Look and behold in 

me 
Robert, your brother, King of Sicily! 
This man, who wears my semblance 

to your eyes, 
Is an imposter in a king's disguise. 
Do you not know me! Does no voice 

within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" 
The Pope in silence, but with troubled 

mein, 
Gazed at the angel's countenance se- 
rene; 
The Emperor, laughing, said, '"It is 

strange sport 






Olmstead's Recitations. 



To keep a madman for thy fool at 

court !" 
And the poor, baffled jester, in dis- 
grace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 
In solemn state the holy week went by, 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the 

sky; 
The presence of the angel, with its 

light, 
Before the sun rose, made the city 

bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts 

of men, 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen 

again. 
Even the jester on his bed of straw, 
\\ ith haggard eyes the untold splendor 

saw; 
He felt within a power unfelt before. 
And kneeling humbly on his chamber 

floor, 
He heard the rustling garments of his 

Lord 
Sweep through the silent air, ascend- 
ing heavenward. 
And now the visit ending, and once 

more 
Valmond returning, to the Danube's 

shore, 
Homeward the angel journeyed, and 

again 
The land was made resplendent with 

his train, 
Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 
And when once more within Palermo's 

wall, 
And, seated on the throne in his great 

hall, 
He heard the Angelus from convent 

towers, 
As if the better world conversed with 

ours, 
He beckoned to King Robert to draw 

nigher, 
And with a gesture bade the rest retire. 
And when they were alone, the angel 

said; 



King Robert crossed both hands upon 
his breast, 

And meekly answered him; "Thou 
knowest best! 

My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, 

And in some cloister's school of peni- 
tence, 

Across those stones that pave the way 
to heaven 

Walk barefoot till my g. ilty soul is 
shriven !" 

The angel smiled, and from his radiant 

face 
A holy light illumined all the place, 
And through the open window, loud 

and clear, 
Then heard the monks chant in the 

chapel near, 
Above the stir and tumult of the street, 
"He has put down the mighty from 

their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree!" 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single 

string: 
"I am an angel, and thou art the king!" 

King Robert, who was standing near 

the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! 
But all appareled as in days of old, 
With ermined mantle and with cloth 

of gold; 
And when his courtiers came, they 

found him there, 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in 

silent prayer. 



Brier- Rose- 

Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 
Said Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty 

Brier-Rose: 
"What will become of you, my child, 

the Lord Almighty knows. 
You will not scrub the kettles, and you 

will not touch the broom ; 
You never sit a minute still at spinning- 



wheel or loom." 

"Art thou the king?" Then, bowing Thus grumbled in the morning, and 
down his head, grumbled late at eve, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



209 



The good-wife as she bustled with pot 

and tray and sieve; 
But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she 

cocked her dainty head: 
"Why, I shall niaiVv, mother dear," full 

merrily she said. 

"You marry; saucy Brier-Rose! The 

rmin he is not found 
To marry such a worthless wench, 

these seven leagues around" 
But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she 

thrilled a merry lay: 
"Perhaps he, 11 come, my mother dear, 

from eight leagues away." 

The good -wife with a "humph" and a 

sigh forsook the battle, 
And flung her pots and pails about 

with much vindictive rattle: 
"O Lord, what sin did I commit in 

youthful days, and wild, 
That thou hast punished me in age 

with such a wayward child?" 

Up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none 
her step could hear, 

And laughing pressed an airy kiss be- 
hind the good-wife's ear. 

And she, as e'er relenting, sighed: "Oh 
Heaven only knows 

Whatever will become of you, my 
naughty Brier-Rose!" 

The sun was high and summer sounds 

were teeming in the air; 
The clauk of scythes, the cricket's 

whir, and swelling wood-notes 

rare, 
From held and copse and meadow; and 

through the open door 
Sweet, fragrant w hilt's of new-mown 

hay the idle breezes bore. 

Then Brier-Rose grew pensive, like a 

bird of thoughtful mien, 
Whose little life has problems among 

the branches green. 
She heard the river brawling where 

the tide was swift and strong, 
She heard the summer singing its 

strange, alluring song. 



14 



And out she skipped the meadows o'er 

and gazed into the sky; 
Her heart o'erbrimmed with gladness, 

she scarce herself knew why, 
And to a merry tune she hummed, "Oh, 

Heaven only knows 
Whatever will become of the naughty 

Brier-Rose!" 

Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle 

maid espied, 
She shook her head in warning, and 

scarce her wrath could hide; 
For girls were made for housewives, 

for spinning-wheel and loom, 
And not to drink the sunshine and 

wild-flower's sweet perfume. 

And oft the maidens cried, when the 

Brier-Rose went by, 
"You cannot knit a stocking, and you 

cannot make a pie." 
But Brier-Rose, as was her wont, she 

cocked her curly head: 
"But I can sing a pretty song," full 

merrily she said. 

And oft the young lads shouted, when 

they saw the maid at play. 
"Ho, good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, how 

do you do to-day?" 
Then she shook her tiny fist; to her 

cheeks the color flew: 
"However much you coax me, I'll never 

dance with you." 

Thus flew the years light-wiuged over 

Brier- Rose's head, 
Till she was twenty summers old and 

yet remained unwed. 
And all the parish wondered: "The 

Lord Almighty knows 
Whatever will become of that naughty 

Brier-Rose!" 

And while they wondered came the 
spring a dancing o'er the hills; 

Her breath was warmer than of yore, 
and all the mountain rills, 

With their tinkling and their rippling 
and their rushing, filled the air, 

And the misty sounds of water forth- 
welling everywhere. 



2IO 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



And in the valley's depth, like a lusty- 
beast of prey. 

The river leaped and roared aloud and 
tossed its mane of spray; 

Then hushed again its voice to a softly 
plashing croon, 

As dark it rolled beneath the sun and 
white beneath the moon. 

It was a merry sight to see the lumber 

as it whirled 
Adown the tawny eddies that hissed 

and seethed and swirled, 
Now shootiug through the rapids and 

with a reeling swing, 
Into *the foam-crests diving like an 

animated thing. 

But in the narrows of the rocks, where 

o'er a steep incline 
The waters plunged, and wreathed in 

foam the dark bough of the pine, 
The lads kept watch with shout and 

song, and sent each straggling 

beam 
A-spinning down the rapids, lest it 

should lock the stream. 



And yet — methinks I hear it now — wild 
voices in the night, 

A rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a 
torch's flaring light, 

And wandering gusts of dampness, and 
round us far and nigh, 

A throbbing boom of water like a pulse- 
beat in the sky. 

The dawn just pierced the pallid east 
with spears of gold and red, 

As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, 
towards the narrows sped. 

And terror smote us: for we heard the 
mighty tree-tops sway, 

And thunder, as of chariots, and hiss- 
ing showers of spray. 

"Now lads," the sheriff shouted, "you 
are strong, like Norway's rock: 

A hundred crowns I give to him who 
breaks the lumber-lock! 

For if another hour go by, the angry 
waters' spoil 



Our homes \\ ill be, and fields and our 
weary years of toil." 

We looked each at the other; each 

hoped his neighbor would 
Brave death and danger for his home, 

as valiant Norsemen should. 
But at our feet the brawling tide ex- 

panded like a lake, 
And whirling beams came shooting on, 

and made the firm rock quake. 

'•Two hundred crowns!" the sheriff 

cried and breathless stood the 

crowd. 
"Two hundred crowns, my bonny 

lads!" in anxious tones and loud. 
But not a man came forward, and no 

one spoke or stirred, 
And nothing save the thunder of the 

cataract was heard. 

But as with trembling hands and with 

fainting hearts we stood, 
We spied a little curly head emerging 

from the wood. 
We heard a little snatch of a merry 

little song, 
And saw the dainty Brier-Rose come. 

dancing through the throng. 

An angry murmur rose from the people 

round about. 
"Fling her in the river!" we heard the 

matrons shout; 
"Chase her away, the silly thing ; for 

God himself scarce knows 
Why ever he created that worthless 

Brier-Rose." 

Sweet Brier-Rose, she heard their cries; 

a little pensive smile 
Across her fair face flitted that might a 

stone beguile; 
And then she gave her pretty head a 

dainty little cock: 
"Hand me a boat-hook, lads," she said; 

"I think I'll break the lock." 

Derisive shouts of laughter broke from 
throats of young and old. 

"Ho! good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, your 
tongue was ever- bold." 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



21 I 



And, mockingly, a boat-hook into her 

hand was flung, 
When, lo! into the river's midst with 

daring leaps she sprung! 

We saw her dimly through a mist of 

dense and blinding spray; 
From beam to beam she skipped, like 

a water-sprite at play. 
And now and then faint gleams we 

caught of color through the mist: 
A crimson waist, a golden head, a 

little dainty wrist. 

In terror pressed the people to the 
margin of the hill, 

A hundred breaths were bated, a hun- 
dred hearts stood still. 

Fpr, hark! from out tne rapids came a 
strange and creaking sound, 

And then a crash of thunder which 
shook the very ground. 

The water hurled the lumber mass 

down o'er the rocky steep. 
We heard a muffled rumbling and a 

rolling in the deep; 
We saw a tiny form which the torrent 

swiftly bore 
And flung into the wild abyss, where it 

was seen no more. 

Ah. little naughty Brier-Rose, thou 

couldst nor weave nor spin; 
Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than 

all thy mocking kin; 
For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and 

by thy death to save 
A thousand farms and lives from the 

fury r of the wave. 

And yet the adage, lives, in the valley 
of thy birth, 

When wayward children spend their 
days in heedless play and mirth, 

Oft mothers say, half smiling, half sigh- 
ing, "Heaven knows 

Whatever will become of the naughty 
Brier-Rose!" 

Saxon Grit. 

ROBERT COLLYEU. 

Worn with the battle, by Stamford 
town, 



Fighting the Normans by Hastings 
Bay, 
Harold the Saxon's sun went down, 
While the acorns were falling oue Au- 
tumn day. 
Then the Norman said, "I am lord of 
the land ; 
By tenor of conquest here I sit ; 
I will rule you now with the iron hand;'' 
But he had not thought of the Saxon 
grit. 

He took the land, and he took the men, 
And burnt the homesteads from Trent 
to Tyne, 
Made the freeman serfs by a stroke of 
the pen, 
Eat up the corn and drank the wine, 
And said to the maiden, pure «ud fair, 

"You shall be my leman, as is most fit, 
Your Saxon churl may rot in his lair;" 
But he had not measured the Saxon 
grit. 

To his merry green wood went bold 
Robin Hood, 
With his strong-hearted yeomanry 
ripe for the fray, 
Driving the arrow into the marrow 
Of all the proud Normans who came 
in his way, 
Scorning the fetter, fearless and free, 
Winning by valor, or foiling by wit, 
Dear to our Saxon folk ever is he, 
This merry old rogue, with the Saxon 
grit. 

And Kett, the tanner, whipt out his 
knife ; 
And Watt, the smith, his hammer 
brought down 
For Ruth, the maid he loved better than 
life, 
And by breaking a head made a hole 
in the crown. 
From the Saxon heart rose a mighty 
roar, 
"Our life shall not be by the king's 
permit; 
We will fight for the right, we want no 
more," 
Then the Norman found out the Saxon, 
grit. 



212 



Olmsiead's Recitations. 



For slow and sure as the oaks had grown 

From the acorns falling that Autumn 

day, 

So the Saxon mauhood in thorp and 

town 

To a nobler stature grew alway. 

Winning by inches, holding by clinches. 

Standing by law and the human right, 

Many times failing, never ouce qualing, 

So the new day came out of the night. 
***** 

Then arising afar in the western sea, 
A new world stood in the morn of the 
day, 

Ready to welcome the brave and free, 
Who could wrench out the heart and 
march away 
From the narrow, contracted, dear old 
land 
Where the poor are held by a cruel 
bit, 
To ampler spaces for heart and hand — 
And here was a chance for the Saxon 
grit. 

Steadily steering, eagerly peering, 

Trusting in God, your fathers came, 
Pilgrims and strangers fronting all dan- 
gers, 
Cool-headed Saxons, with hearts all 
aflame. 
Bound by the letter, but free from the 
fetter 
And hiding their freedom in Holy 
Writ, 
They gave Deuteronomy hints in econo- 
my, 
And made a new Moses of Saxon grit. 

They whittled and waded through forest 
and fen, 
Fearless a3 ever of what might befall; 
Pouring out life for the nurture of men; 
In faith that by manhood the world 
wins all. 
Invented baked beans and no end of 
machines; 
Great with the rifle and great with the 
ax, 
Sending their notions over the oceans, 
To till empty stomachs and straighten 
bent backs. 



Swift to take chances that end in a dol- 
lar, 
Yet open of hand when the dollar is 
made, 
Maintaining the meetin', exalting the 
scholar. 
But a little too anxious about a good 
trade. 
This is young Jonathan, son of old John, 
Positive, peaceable, firm in the right, 
Saxon men all of us may we be one, 
Steady for freedom, and strong in her 
might. 

Then, slow and sure, as the oaks have 
grown 
From the acorns that fell on that old 
dim day, 
So this new manhood, in city and town, 

To a noble stature will grow alway; 
Winning by inches, holding by clinches, 
Slow to contention, and slower to 
quit, 
Now and then failing, but never once 
quailing. 
Let us thank God for the Saxon grit. 



Little Nellie in Prison. 

PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. 

The eyes of a child are sweeter than any hymn 
we have sung, and wiser than any sermon is the 
lisp of a ciiildsh tongue ! 

Hugh Falcon learned this happy truth 
one day; 
('Twas a fair noontide in the month of 
May)— 
When as the chaplain of the convict's 
jail, 
He passed its glowing archway, sad 
and pale, 
Bearing his tender daughter on his arm. 
Alive years' darling she! The dewy 
charm 
Of Eden star-dawns glistened in her 
eyes, 
Her dimpled cheeks were rich with 
sunny dyes. 

"Papa!" the child that morn, while still 
abed, 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



213 



Drawing him close toward her, shyly 
said: 
"Papa! oh, wout you let your Nellie go 
To see those naughty men that plague 
you so, 
Down in the ugly prison by the wood? 
Papa, I'll beg and pray them to be 
good. 1 ' 
"What, you, my child?" he said, with 
half a sigh. 
"Why not, papa? I'll beg them so to 

try." 

The chaplain, with a father's gentlest 
grace, 
Kissed the small ruffled brow, the 
pleading face; 
"Out of the mouths of babes and suck- 
lings still, 
Praise is perfected," thought he; thus 
his will . 
Blended with hers, and though those 
gates of sin, 
Black, even at noontide, sire and child 
passed in. 

Fancy the foulness of the sulphurous 
lake, 
Wherefrom a lily's snow-w r hite leaves 
should break, 
Flushed by the shadow of an unseen 
rose! 
So, at the iron gate's loud clang and 
close, 
Shone the drear twilight of that place 
defiled, 
Touched by the flower-like sweetness 
of the child! 

O'er many a dismal vault, and stony 
floor, 
The chaplain walked from ponderous 
door to door. 
Till now beneath a stair- way's dizzy 
flight 
He stood, and looked up the far-cir- 
cling height; 
But risen of late from fever's torture-bed, 
How could he trust his faltering limbs 

Just then, he saw, next to the mildewed 
wall 



A man in prisoner's raiment, gaunt 
and tall, 
Of sullen aspect, and wan, downcast 
face, 
Gloomed in the midnight of some deep 
disgrace; 
He shrank as one who yearned to fade 
away, 
Like a vague shadow on the stone- 
work gray, 
Or die beyond it, like a viewless wind; 
His seemed a spirit faithless, passion- 
less, blind 
To all fair hopes which light the hearts 
of men, — 
A dull, dead soul, never to wake a- 
gaic! 

The chaplain paused, half doubting 
what to do, 
When little Nellie raised her eyes of 
blue, 
And, nowise daunted by the downward 
stir 
Of shaggy brows that glowered ask- 
ance at her. 
Said, putting back her wealth of sunny 
hair, — 
"Sir, will you kindly take me up the 
si air? 
Papa is tired, and I'm too small to 
climb." 
Frankly her eyes in his gazed all the 
time, 
And something to her childhood's in- 
stinct known 
So worked within her, that her arms 
"were thrown 
About his neck. She left her s'n*e's em- 
brace 
Near that sad convit heart to take her 
place, 
Sparkling and trustfull — more she did 
not speak; 
But her quick fingers patted his swart, 
cheek 
Carressingly, — in time to some old tune 
Hummed by her nurse, in summer's 
drowsy noon! 

Perforce he turned his wild, uncertain 
gaze 



214 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Down ou the child! Then stole a tre- 
mulous haze 
Across his eyes, but-rounded not to tears; 
Wherethrough he saw faint glimmer- 
ings of lost years 
And perished loves! A cabin by a rill 
Rose through the twilight on a happy 
hill; 
And there were lithe child-figures at 
their play , 

That Hashed and faded in the dusky 
ray ; 
And near the porch a gracious wife who 
smiled, 
Pure as young Eve in Eden, unbeguil- 
edi 

Subdued, yet thrilled, 'twas beautiful to 

see 
With what deep reverence, and how 

tenderly 
He clasped the infant frame so slight 

and fair, 
And safely bore her up the darkening 

stair ! 
The landing reached, in her arch, 

childish ease, 
Our Nellie clasped his neck and whis- 
pered: 
"Please wont you be good, sir? For 

I like you so, 
And you are such a big, strong man you 

know — " 
With pleading eyes, her sweet face 

sidewise set. 
Then suddenly his furrowed cheek grew 

wet 
With sacred tears — in whose divine 

eclipse 
Upon her nestling head he pressed his 

lips 
As softly as a dreamy west-wind's 

sigh,— 
What time a something, undefined but 

high, 
As 'twere a new soul, struggled to the 

dawn 
Through his raised eyelids. Thence, 

the gloom withdrawn 
Of brooding vengeance and unholy 

pain, 



He felt no more the captive's galling 

chain; 
But only knew a little child had come 
To smite despair, his taunting, demon 

dumb; 
A child whose marvelous innocence 

enticed 
All white thoughts back, that from the 

heart of Christ 
Fly dove-like earthward, past our 

clouded ken, 
Child-like to bless, or lives of child-like 

men! 

Thus he went his way, 

An altered man from that thrice blessed 

day; 
His soul turned ever to the soft refrain 
Of words once uttered in a sacred fane: 
"The little children, let them come to 

me; 
Of such as these my realm of heaven 

must be," 
But mo ^t he loved of one dear child to 

tell, 
The child whose trust had saved him, 

tender Nell! 



Alma Mater's Roll- 
Edward Everett Hale. 

(At a dinner at Cambridge, 1875.) 
I saw her scan her sacred scroll, 
I heard her read her record roll, 
Of men who wrought to win the right, 
Of men who fought and died in fight, 
When now a hundred years by gone, 
The day she welcomed Washington, 
She showed to him her boys and men 
And told him of their duty then. 

Here are the beardless boys I sent, 

And whispered to them my intent 

To free a struggling continent. 

The marks upon this scroll will show 

Their work a hundred years ago. 

"Otis," — no lesser death was given 

To him than by a bolt from Heaven! 

"Quincy" — he died before he heard 

The echo of his thunder word . 

And these were stripling lads whom I 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



215 



Sent out to speak a nations cry 

lu "glittering generality." 

Of living words that cannot die, — 

'Johu Hancock'! 'Here". 'John Adams'. 

'Here' 
'Paine, (Terry, Hooper, Williams!' 

'Here.' 
'My Narragansett Ellery!' 'Here.' 
'Sam Adams, tirst of freeman!' 'HereV 
My beardless boys, my graybeard men, 
Summoned to take the fatal pen 
Which gave eternal rights to men! — 
All present or accounted for. 

T saw her scan again the scroll, 
I heard her read again the roll, 
I heard her name her soldier son, 
Ward, called from home by Lexington. 
He smiled and laid his baton down, 
Proud to be next to Washington! 
He called her list of boys and men 
Who served her for her battles then. 
From north to south from east to west 
He named her bravest and her best. 

From distant fort, from bivouac near, 
"Brook, Eustis, Cobb and Thatcher!" 

"Here." 
— Name after name with quick reply, 
As twitched his lip and flashed his eye. 
But then he choked and bowed his head 
''Warren — at Bunker Hill — lies dead." 
The roll was closed — he only said 
"All present, or accounted for!" 

That scroll is stained with time and 

dust, 
They were not faithless to their trust. 
"If those days come again — if I 
Call on the grandsons— what reply? 
What deed of courage new display 
These fresher parchments of to-day?" 

I saw her take the fresher scroll, 
I heard her read the whiter roll, 
And as the answers came, the while 
Our mothers nodded with a smile: 
"Chas. Adams." "Here!" "Geo. Ban- 
croft." "Herer 
"The Hoars." "Both herer "Dick 

Dana." "Here!" 
"Wads worth!" "He died at duty's 
call." 



"He fell as brave meu 

'Struck down in Faneuel 



"Webster!" 

fall." 
"Everett!" 

Hall." 
"Sumner!" "A nation bears his pall." 
"Shaw!" "Abbott!' "Lowell" "Sav- 



age! 



'all 



Died there — to live ou yonder wall!" 
"Come east, come west, come far, come 

near, 
Lee! Bartlett, Davis, Devens!" "Here.'* 
All present or accounted for. 

Boys heed the omen! let the scroll 
Fill as it may, as years unroll. 
But when again she calls her youth 
To serve her in the ranks of truth, 
May she find all one heart, one soul; 
At home, or on some distant shore, 
All present, or accounted for. 



The King's Christmas 
(A Legend of Norway.) 
With an hundred Jarls at least, 
Held King Orm his Yule tide feast. 

Drinking merrily; 
Foamed the ale, the din of revels 
Sounded down the long sand levels 
Of the wild north sea. 

Beserks chanted tunes and rhymes, 
Sagas of the Elder times — 

Deeds of force and might, 
Mixed with hymns to martyrs glorious, 
And the white Christ, the victorous, 

Born a babe to-night. 

Midnight came, and like a spell 
On the Hall a silence fell — 

Hushed the Berserks tale; 
Only the deep ocean thunder, 
And the pine groves rent asunder 

By the Norland gale. 

In that silence of the feast 

Rose a white-haired Christian priest 

Spoke with accents mild: 
"Will not each some offering proffer — . 
Each some birthnight present offer 

To the new-born child?" 

Up there started Svend the bold, 
Red his shaggy locks as gold, 



i6 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Blue his restless eye; 
"Lauds of Nordeu fields twice twenty 
Miles, where firs grow tall and plenty 

To the church give I. 

Ranald next; where sailed his crew 
Sea wolves swam, and eagles flew 

Watching for the slain. 
"Gold I give— Doubloons a hundred, 
Last year in Sevilla plundered, 

When we ravaged Spain." 

Thus they shouted each and all, 
Through the long low-raftered hall; 

Each his gift proclaimed. 
Then again the hush unbroken, 
For the king had not } T et spoken, 

Nor his offering named. 

In a sweet and gentle tone 

Brave King Orm spoke from his throne: 

"What befits the king? 
Christian priest I pray thee tell me, 
That none other may excel me 

In the gift I bring." 

In the silence of the feast 

Spoke again the white-haired priest 

'Mid the listening throng: 
"Pardon grant, O king, aid pity 
To all men in lield or city 

Who have done thee wrong. 

"Who so pardoneth his foes, 
On his Lord a gift bestows 

More than lauds and sea, 
Such a gift — it cometh solely 
From a heart thats royal wholly 

With Heaven's royalty." 

"Be it so," the king replied, 

"All men from this Christmas tide 

Brothers do I call." 
Through the Hall all heads bowed loyal; 
"King, thy gift has proved thee royal: 

Thou surpassest all!" 

That sweet Yule tide gift went forth, 
Bearing through the rugged north 

Blessings far and wide; 
Men grew gentler to each other, 
And each called his neighbor brother 
From that Christmas tide. 



A Little Rebel. 

BY JENNIE M. BINGHAM. 

'Twas the year seveenteen hundred 
and seventy-seven, 
When Eugland was here looking 
after her child; 
The run-away, naughty, refractory 
youngster, 
By visions of freedom and future 
beguiled. 

From camps of the British a posse of 

soldiers 
Descended to plunder a neighboring 

farm ; 
Just taking possession of whatever 

pleased them 
Regardless of protest, or prayers, or 

alarm. 

It happened with others a fine cow 
they captured, 
Belonging expressly to Annie, the 

A brave little daughter, you'll say, 
when I tell how 
She braved the great Britons, for 
bossy, her Pearl. 

She flew to the stables, and saddled her 
pony, 
Was soon on the road to the camp 
near at hand; 
The camp of the Britons, where dwelt 
the commander, 
Cornwallis, the leader of England's 
proud band. 

"Halt!" shouted the guard, laying hold 
of the bridle, 
(She would have rushed by him, her 
haste Avas so great) 
"I must see Corwallis, it's very import- 
ant. 
Don't hold me a moment, it may be 
too late." 

He knew lhat some rebels were still 

true to England, 
Would send in their spies to report 

precious news 
So summoned an escort to take to 

head-quarters 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



217 



This maid, whom the General would 
not dare refuse. 

'Twas a guy, festive room where he sat 
with his council. 
She glanced from herself to the full 
dinner-dress, 
Abashed for a moment at thought of 
her boldness, 
They, waiting to hear what she had 
to confess. 

"It's my cow," she declared, "your 
soldies they took her. 
I want her. Please don't let them 
kill her for meat. 
My father and brothers are Washing- 
ton's soldiers, 
So I had to come, spite the smoke 
and the heat." 

A moment they gazed on the daring 

young maiden, 
Then set up a shout that was deaf- 

'ning to hear. 
The General hushed them with stern 

word, and answered, 
"Here's spirit and courage I'm proud 

to revere." 

Then turning to Annie, he said with a 
smile, 
"So you are a rebel?" to w r hich she 
replied, 
"Yes sir, if you please, I'm a rebel, but 
do, sir, 
Give back my poor bossy again to 
our side," 

"She's yours," was the answer, "I'll 
send a man with her." 
Unclasping his knee-buckles bright, 
as he said, 
"These too shall be yours, then you'll 
surely remember 
Cornwallis knows courage, wherever 
• it's bred." 

Quite flushed with her triumph, she 
turned her face homeward, 
The buckles, as trophies, clasped 
fast to her bow. 

They're kept to this day by her happy 
descendants, 



Reminders how grandfathers fought 
long ago. 



An Extract 

From a Poem delivered at the Departure of the 
Senior Class of Yale College, in 1826. 

N. P. Willis. 

We shall go forth together. There 
will come 
Alike the day of trial unto all. 
And the rude world will buffet us alike. 
Temptation hath a music for all ears; 
And mad ambition trumpeteth to all; 
And the ungovernable thought within 
Will be in every bosom eloquent; — 
But, when the silence and the calm 

come on, 
And the high seal of character is set, 
We shall not all be similar. The scale 
Of being is a graduated thing; 
And deeper than the vanities of power, 
Or the vain pomp of glory, there is writ 
Gradation, in its hidden characters. 

The pathway to the grave may be the 

same, 
And the proud man shall tread it, and 

the low, 
With his bowed head, shall bear him 

company. 
Decay will make no difference, and 

death, 
With his cold hand, shall make no dif- 
ference; 
And there will be no precedence of 

power, 
In waking at the coming trump of God; 
But in the temper of the invisible mind, 
The godlike and undying intellect, 
There are distinctions that will live in 

heaven, 
When time is a forgotten circumstance! 
The elevated brow of the kings will 

lose 
The impress of regalia, and the slave 
Will wear his immortality as free, 
Beside the crystal waters; but the depth 
Of glory in the attributes of God, 
Will measure the capacities of mind; 
And as the angels differ, will the ken 



218 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Of gifted spirits glorify him more, 
It is life's mystery. The soul of man 
Createth its own destiny of power; 

Ami, as the trial is intenser here, 
His being hath a nobler strength in 
heaven. 

What is earthly victory? Press on! 
For it has tempted angels. Yet press 

on! 
For it shall make you might}' among 

men; 
And from the eyrie of your eagle 

thought, 
Ye shall look down on monarchs. O, 

press on! 
For the high ones and powerful shall 

come 
To do you reverence; and the beautiful 
Will know the purer language of your 

brow, 
And read it like a talisman of love! 
Press on! for it is godlike to unloose 
The spirit, and forget yourself in 

thought; 
Bending a pinion for the deeper sky, 
And, in the very fetters of your flesh, 
Mating with the pure essences of heav- 
en! 
Press on! — 'for in the grave there is no 

work, 
And no device.'— Press on! while yet ye 

may! 



King Down the Drop— I Cannot Play. 
J. W. Watson. 
O painted gauds and mimic scenes, 
And pompous trick that nothing means! 
O glaring light and shouting crowd, 
And love-words in derision vowed! 
O crowned king with starving eyes, 
And dying swain who never dies! 
Oh, hollow show and empty heart, 
Great ministers of tragic art! 

"There's that within which passeth 

show." 
The days they come, the days they go. 
We live two lives, on either page — 
The one, upon the painted stage, 



With all the world to hear and gaze 
And comment on each changing phase; 
The other, that sad life within, 
Where love may purify a sin. 

Ring up the drop, the play is on; 
Our hour of entrance comes anon! 
Choke down the yearnings of the soul; 
Weak, doling fool! art thou the whole? 
The stage is waiting, take thy part; 
Forget to-night thou hast a heart; 
Let sunshine break the gathering cloud, 
And smile thou on the waiting crowd. 

Hear how their plaudits fill the scene! 

Is not thy greedy ear full keen? 

Is not a thousaud shouts a balm 

For all thy throbbing heart's alarm? 

"To be or not to be '—the screed 

Is listened to with breathless heed. 

O painter with a painted mask! 

Is thy brain wandering from thy task? 

Can it be true that scores of years 

Do not suffice to murder tears? 

Can it be true that all of art 

Has failed to teach the human heart? 

Can gauds, and tricks, and shout, and 

glare, 
» The deafening drum, the trumpet's 

blare, 
With all their w r ild, delirous din, 
Not stifle this sad life within? 

Pah, man! the eager people wait; 
Go on with all thy studied prate; 
Shalt thou not feed their longing eyes 
Because — because a woman dies? 
What cares the crowd for dying wives 
For broken hearts, or blasted lives! 
They paid their money, and — they say — 
Living or dead, on with the play! 

What! staggering/ man? why, where's 

thy art 
That stare was good; that tragic start 
Would make thy fortune, were it not 
That it rebukes the author's plot. 
"My wife is dying!" He ne'er wrote 
The words that struggle iu thy throat. 
"Take back your money," did'st thou 

say? 
"Ring down the drop— I cannot play." 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



219 



Ring down the drop; the act is o'er; 
Her bark has touched the golden shore, 
While reading from life's inner page, 
Stands there the actor of the stage; 
But not upon the cold, white corse 
Falls there a word of sad remorse 
From all that crowd who heard him 

say, 
''Ring down the drop— I cannot play." 



Parting Words. 

E. Kent. 

"Read at the close of her school, by the author, 
who has since gone 

>: to the Father's home. 
Where tne careworn and the weary, and the 

little children dwell. 
Where love-tones alone are echoed, where U 

breathed no sad farewell." 

We are going homeward, homeward, 

soon must fall the parting tear, 
But unto my saddened spirit, children 

you are very dear; 
Days and weeks in qui ck^ succession, 

pleasantly have tlown away, 
And 'mid hours of useful labor, brought 

us to this parting day. 
Now before we part dear children; e'er 

we breathe the fond farewell, 
Let us turn our vision backwards, and 

on other moments dwell; 
You as pupils, I as teacher, have we 

striven to obtain 
Something of God's holier blessings 

which shall be our future gain? 
Ask yourselves the question, children, 

have you through these wintry 

hours, 
Toiled to gain some useful knowledge 

to increase your mental powers? 
Felt your spirit stronger growing as 

you gained some wholesome 

truth. 
Which hath made you wiser, better, in 

the spring-time of your youth? 
Now — to-morrow — and forever, shall 

these words of truth and love, 
As a beacon, guide you onward, unto 

brighter lands above; 
As ye gather in your childhood, so 

when riper days shall dawn, 



Shall ye reap the- full fruition of the 

hours that are gone. 
\U'(h\ ye then, oh! cherished spirits, 

lest ye sow the seeds of woe 
That shall bear a fruitful harvest in 

this changeful world below, 
Cloud old age with care and sorrow 
that had else been pure and free, 
Crowned with thorns instead ofroses — 

not as it should ever be. 
Life at best hath cares and sorrows 
which to each and all must come; 
He who takes them with the sunshine, 
happier makes his friends and 
home, 
Strews sweet flowers around his path- 
way, makes his life a life of love; 
Makes his home a home of sunshine, as 

the Father's home above. 
We are going forth to labor, here life's 

duties must divide, 
No more in this pleasant school-room 

shall we labor side by side. 
I have loved you, dearest children, I 

have striven to impart 
Knowledge gathered from the way-side, 

that will beautify the heart. 
Not alone on science's hill-side have 

you gleaned, or faltering trod, 
I have tried to lead you nearer to the 

bosom of your God; 
To be kind to one another, pure in 

action, pure in speech, 
Lofty in your thoughts and feelings — 

this, oh! this I've tried to teach. 
If I've failed in this great mission, if 

I've ever seemed unkind, 
If you've deemed me harsh and hasty, 
thought my judgment weak and 
blind, 
Oh! remember, dearest children, that 

the teacher has to bear 
With your weakness and your folly, 
with your troubles and your care, 
Has to study huma nature, curb the 

passions of the child, 
Patiently explain the probiem, teach 

you to be true and mild; 
Many duties crowd around her in this 
temple of the mind; 



220 



Olmstead's Recitations. 



Oh! be lenient in your judgment, think 

not she is harsh, unkind; 
For the noblest ones have faltered, 

moved by passions deep and wild 
For a moment lost to reason, weak and 

helpless as a child. 
If I've wronged you, children, Oh! I 

trust you will forgive. 
High resolves and true repentance 

teach us better how to live. 
When the peaceful summer twilight 

rests upon the scorching lands, 
Often times in thought and feeling, in 

this temple I shall stand, 
See again your merry faces, live these 

winter hours o'er, 
Feel the presence of the loved ones, 

gliding through the open door, 
Hear your gladsome voices ringing on 

the peaceful summer air, 
Hear your kindly words of welcome 

floating 'round me everywhere; 
And your thoughtless words and actions 

all forgotten then shall be, 
While the memory of your good deeds 

only shall be borne to me; 
And this memory, Oh! beloved ones, 

shall a green oasis be, — 
In a union 'twixt our spirits, golden 

chain of purity. 
Wheresoe'er your feet shall wander, 

keep your spirit firm and strong, 
Live to make great men and women, 

scorn to do that which is wrong; 
Though the tempter stands beside you, 

overcome each wild desire, 
And through great and moral action 

conquer passion's evil fire, 
Thus you shall go forth to duty, strong 

to labor and to do; 
Pride of home and pride of parents and 

a nation's glory too. 
And to those whose words of wisdom 

o'er our common life was thrown, 
Who, when parted from the loved ones, 

made for us a loving home; 
Oh! we bless you cherished spirits, for 

your great unwearied love, 
For your kindness without measure, 

sweet as sunshine from above; 



Bless you for the useful lessons patient- 
ly you've daily taught, 

For the tenderness and home-love with 
which every deed was fraught. 

Oh! we feel our spirits stronger, having; 
shared your love and home, 

And our prayers shall still be with you,, 
wheresoever we may roam. 

We are going homeward, homeward, 
sad thoughts flit across the mind, 

Mingled with the thought of meeting- 
treasured spirits left behind. 

Feeling stronger, wiser, better, having; 
met within these walls, 

And o'er all the winter hours, sadly 
now the curtain falls. 

Oh! a thousand thoughts and feelings 
rush across the weary mind, — 

Little children love each other, be yon 
ever just and kind, 

Learn forgiveness, 'tis a lesson you 
should learn in youth's spring- 
time; 

To "forget it on ly human" — to forgive 
is half divine; 

Thus where'er on life's great ocean may 
our future life be thrown, 

We shall feel that we are nearing near- 
ing to the Father's home, 

Where the care-worn and the weary,, 
and the little children dwell, 

Where love-tones alone are echoed- 
where is breathed no sad fare- 
well. 



TABLE Or CONTENTS. 

Page. 

S anta Claus in the Mine .Anon 1 

The Skeleton Story. Anon 8 

The Monster Cannon. Victor Hugo 9 

Death of Benedict Arnold. George Ltfppard 12 u/ 

The Two Roads. Jean Paul Richter 14 

The Firemans Prayer. Russel A. Conwell 15 

The Ambitious Youth. Elihu Burritt 16 

Regulus to the Earthagenians. E. Kellogg 19 

At the Tom I) of Grant. Hou. John S. Wise 21 

The Little Match Girl. Hans Christian Anderson 21 

Sparticus to the Gladiators. E Kellogg 23 

Survivors of Bunker Hill. Daniel Webster 24 

The Veteran Soldiers.. Col. R G. Ingersoll 25 

On the Shores of Tennessee. Mrs. E. L. Beers 26 

The Dandy Fifth. Frank Cassaway 27 

Curfew Must not King To-night. Mrs. Rose H. Thorpe 29 

The Gamblers Wife 30 

The Vagabonds. J. T. Trowbridge 31 

Kentucky Belle. Constance Tenimore Woolston 33 

The Polish Boy. Ann T. Stevens 35 

8 ham us O'Brien. Samuel Lover 37 

Death Doomed 41 

Song of Marion's Men. W. C. Bryant 43 

The Smith of Ragenback. Frank Murray 43 

One in Blue and One in Gray. Anon 44 

Kate Shelley. Eugene J. Hall 45 

Flying Jim's Last Leap. Anon 47 

Custer,s Last Charge 48 

The Kaiser blumen. Celia Thaxter. ... 50 

Ousters Last Ride. Frederic Whittaker 51 

Wm. Tell 53 

The Minuet 54 

Rock of Ages 54 

The Last Hymn. Marianne Farningham 55 

Money Musk. Benj. F* Taylor 56 

Engineer's Making Love. Robert Burdette 57 

Sister and 1 58 

Jesus Lover of my Soul. Eugene Hall 58 

Searching for theSlain 60 

The Country Dance. Joe Jot Jr 61 

Pride of Battery B 62 

The Widow's Light. Augusta Moore 63 

Sioux Chief's Daughter. Joaquin Miller 64 

You put no Flowers in my Papa's Grave. C. E. L. Holmes ()ii 

Daisy's Faith. Joanna H, Mathews 67 

Rock me to Sleep Mother. F. E. W. Cooperstown N. Y HI) 

Cuddle Doon. Alexander Anderson 69 

The Three Kingdoms. J. E. Bendall 70 

Ginevra. Samuel Rogers 70 

The Painter of Seville 72 

Execution of Montrose. W. E. Aytoun 74 

Mary the Maid of the Inn. Robert Southey ,76 

The Mouster Diamond. J. B. O'Reilly 78 

Lasca. Frank Disprez 80 

Kit Carson's Ride. Joaquin Miller 82 

The Bell of Lauora. VV. R. Rose 85 

The Duelists Victory. Geo. T. Danergan 86 

Wrecker's Oath on Baruegast. Henry Morford. 88 



CONTENTS. 

Hancock at Gettysburg. Sherman D. Richardson 8& 

Sheridan at Stone River. Sherman D. Richardson 91 

The Fed Jacket. Geo. M Baker 92 

Will the New Year come To-night. Cora M. Eager . 94 

Accusing Bell or Blind Horse. (From the German) 95 

Crmbysis and the Macrobian Bow. Paul H. Hayne 96 

The Drummer Boy 98 

Palmetto and the Pine. Virginia L. French 98- 

The Victor of Maringo 99 

The Dead Student. Will Carleton 100 

How he Saved St. Michaels. Aldiue 101 

The Roninu Soldier. Atherston 103. 

Over the Hills From the Poor house. Will Carleton 104 

Alexander Timing Bucephalus. Park Benjamin 106 

The Pilot's Story. W. D. Howells 107 

Death of the Old Squire. Anon 10a 

What made the Judge Compromise. Sam Small Ill 

Marion's Dinner. Edward C. Jones 112 

Why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud. William Knox 112 

The Seventh Plague of Egypt. Geo. Croly lift 

Drummer Boy of Mission Ridge • • • ; 115 

The Squire's Bargain. E. M. Traqnair 11? 

Jem's Last Ride. Mary A. Stansbury 11& 

The Singer's Alms. Henry L. Abbey 120 

Antietam. Col. S. D. Richardson 121 

The Bells. Edgar A. Poe 121 

Creeds of the Bells. Geo. W. Bungay 128 

Battle Above the Clouds. Theron Brown 124 

Bingen on the Rhine. Mrs. Norton 125 

Baron's la«t Banquet 126. 

Bankrupt Visitor. Thos. Dunn English 12? 

Relief of Lncknow. Robert Lowell 129 

Farm Where we were Boys. E. L. Shuman 130 

Independence Bell 131 

The Old Year and the New. Tennyson 132 

Convicts Christmas Eve 132 

The Black Tiger. S. Olmsted 135 

Incident of the Mohawk. S. Olmsted 137 

Vashti. Julia C. Dorr 138 

An Order for a Picture. Alice Gary 141 

We Shall know. Annie Herbert , 142 

How the Gates Came Ajar "". 142 

Over the River. Nancy A. Priest 143 

Old Way and the New. John H. Yates 144 

Bernardo's Revenge 145 

Antony and Cleopatra. Wm H. Lyttle. 145 

Cleopatra Dying. Thos. Collier 146 

The Storm. Geo. Alex Stevens 14fi 

The Black Fox. Whittier 147 

Don't Marry a Man to Reform Him 149 

Cannot Call her Mother 150 

The Old Old Story. Ella Wheeler Wilcox 150 

Children Nutting. Lucy Marion Blynn 151 

Burial of Moses. C. F. Alexander 151 

The Charcoal Man. J. T. Trowbridge 152 

Three Grains of Corn. Miss Edwards 153 

Dont Forget the Old Folks 154 

A Woman's Question 154 

Home and Friends. . . 155 

When I go Home. Eugene Field 155 

Sufferings of the Pilgrims. Everett 155 

The Pilgrims. Mrs. Sigourney 156 



CONTENTS. 

Fifty Years Ago. W, D. Gallagher 157 

Indian as he was and is. Sprague .168 

Fall of Tecumseh. N. Y. Statesman 158 

Man was made to Mourn. Robert Burns 160 

Bernardo Del Carpio. Mrs. Hernans 161 

Lord of Burleigh. Tennyson 162 

The Diver. (German of Schiller) 163 

Legend of Bregenz. Adalaide Proctor 166 

Absalom. N. P. Willis 168 

Marco Bozzaris. F. G. Halleck 170 

The Inchcape Hock. Robert Southey 171 

Horations. Macauley 172 

Battle of Bunker Hill. Cozzens 175 

Death of Leonidas 175 

The King and the Rustic. Oldham 176 

Guilty or not Guilty. Anon 178 X 

The Blind Boy. F. L. Hawks. 178 

The White Rose of Miami. Mrs. E. L. Schemerhorn 170 

Twenty Years Ago 180 

Battle of Waterloo. Byron 180 

Out of the Old House Nancy. Will Carleton , 182 

Graves of a Household .' 184 

The Will and The Way 18* 

The Goiden Side ' 184 

Deeds Versus Creeds. Annie L. Muzzey : 185 

Sermon in Rhyme 186 

She Always Made Home Happy 186 

The Family Bible. Anon 187 

Dream of Ambition. Tupper 187 

Raising of Dorcas. Rev. Alfred Hough 188 

Hagar in the Wilderness. N. P. Willis 192 

Castles in the Air. S. Olmstead 193 

What one Boy thinks. Harriet Prescott Spofford 194 

The Burial of Arnold. N. P. Willis .194 

COeur De Lion, at the Bier of His Father 195 

The Burning of Chicago. Will Carleton 195 

Damon and Pythias; or, True Friendship. Wm. Peter 199 

The African Chief. Byron 201 

King Volmer and Elsie 201 

Godiva. Alfred Tennyson 204 

King Robert of Sicily. H. W. Longfellow 205 

Brier-Rose. Hjalmar Hjorth Boyeren 108 

Saxon Grit. Robert Collyer 211 

Little Nellie in Prison. Paul Hamilton Hayne 212 

Alma Mater's Roll. Edward Everett Hale 214 

The King's Christmas 215 

A Little Rebel. Jennie M.- Bingham 216 

An Extract. N. P. Wallis 217 

Ring Down the Drop. J. W. Watson 218 

Parting Words. E. Kent 219 



Sherman D. Richardson, 

(Author of '-Richardson's Recitations" of thrilling and entertaining 

war poems) 

Dramatie Reader. 

Singly, or in connection with Seymour Olmstead. 
G. A. R. Posts, Lodges, Committees, Etc. will do 
well to write for terms. Address, 

COL. SHERMAN D. RICHARDSON, 

63 Arcade, Rochester, N. Y. 



Seymour Olmstead, 

Dramatic Reader. 

Lodges, G. A. R., I. O. O. F., I. O. G. T., 

A. O. U. W. , Societies, Committees, Etc. please 
write for terms — alone or with Col. Richardson. 

Address, SEYMOUR OLMSTEAD, 

Albion, Orleans Co., N. Y. 



